Jagged Little Pills

Weekend Warrior

2008-06-15T19:29:00.004-04:00

It's 75 degrees. The breeze is warm and steady. I smell fresh cut grass and the mossy hint of petunias. My cinnamon coffee is resting on the arm of my fake Adirondack chair and I'm writing in my current notebook, which was purchased well over a year ago.

In my defense, this notebook is more than three quarters full, but it's still no excuse for my non-existent writing habits.

The excuse never changes though. "Too busy" seems to be the standing lament in my world. And if I recited all the things I do on a weekly basis, it would be a valid excuse. But it still doesn't stop the nagging feeling that I wish I could do something different with my life.

I love my job. I do. I love my customers and my co-workers. If I have to work, this is the perfect job. Really, how many people can say that? It's just that I'm two days into a four day vacation and I'm realizing all the things I can't do because of work.

I can't take Drew to the zoo or sit under the tree and share a picnic lunch. I can't get up and take a long walk to prepare myself for the day. I can't sit in my fake Adirondack and write my novel. I can't be the mom, wife, daughter and friend that I really want to be.

Do all of those things on the weekend you say. I know, but I don't.

I've been plagued with migraines again lately and I'm bone tired more days than I'm not. Each week my goal is to do laundry, get groceries and clean the house after work so I have more time on my cherished weekends. It never happens.

And so it continues week after week, month upon month until a year has surprisingly slipped by.

It's really not important that I write. I've sort of resigned myself to the idea that I most likely will never have a published work. I sure miss the dream though. I miss the practice and the exercise.

It's not just that I can't find the physical time. It's the mental energy that I lack. My mind just doesn't want to work "after hours" and thus I've taken to watching meaningless crap on television to basically fill the silence.

One thing I've learned in this lapsed year though is to just ride each swell of longing or discontent until the next "feel good" wave inevitably comes. I guess really, that's the most important thing any of us can learn in this world where we can't have everything we want.

Moments

2008-04-13T12:31:00.005-04:00

I can almost hear the vaccum-like whoosh of time rushing through my body and life.

I'm not complaining and it doesn't depress me anymore. I think I've finally made it to a point where I just accept it for what it is and am grateful that I have time to rush by me.

Sure work still stresses me out, but I know that it's a temporary stress. One that melts away when I am surrounded by the comforts of home.

These moments that fly by so fast, these moments that I used to spend more time worrying about missing than actually enjoying, are being stamped in my memory and I can take them with me where ever I go.

Here I Am

2008-02-10T09:40:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid, I wanted a life partner I could trust and someone whose love I was secure in....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted a nice house. Classy but liveable. Big but not ridiculous....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted children who enjoyed being at home, but who weren't afraid to be away from me....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a successful career and be confident in my job....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought I would encounter ugliness and betrayal in my immediate circle....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a story to tell....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be confident in who I was becoming....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I didn't think emotional scars would be permanent....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought my dreams would change....
Here I am.

I'm still waiting on a lot of things, but...
Here I am.

Here I am.

The Bloat

2008-01-25T04:12:00.000-05:00

Webster defines it as expanding or swelling with or as with air or water. History knows it as the Burgeoning Layer Of Abdominal Tearing.

Men won't get this. Sure they get the occasional indigestion, remedied by an inner-fisted baby punch to the sternum area, but it's not The Bloat. Only other women understand the pain and discomfort that's associated with bowling ball weight between the naval and the pelvic bone. Hurts to sit, hurts to stand. And holding the stomach muscles tight in that ever slimming, shoulders back pose - not happening. It hurts too much.

And it's not even a week that I should be bloated.

Dajuanna Phillips

2008-01-20T16:56:00.000-05:00

I really dislike selling, but it comes naturally. It's easy and I'm good at it - at least that's what I've been told. I'm a pro at reading a situation and slanting the outcome to work in my favor. I should have been a politician, but I'd probably dislike that even more than sales.

I think I acquired this skill in my junior high years out of pure necessity. There was this girl, Dajuanna Phillips. She was white and meaner than a damn snake. A bully if there ever was one. I don't know how many girls and guys she beat the crap out of. And I was on her list on more than one occasion. For what, I never knew. I just knew that I had to do whatever I needed to keep my ass safe.

She would have been a good kid really, but probably didn't have parental support or guidance in any area of her life. Her kid sister Angelique was destined to be just like her, creating a wake of fear throughout her high school years.

Despite being scared to death of Dajuanna, I kind of liked her. Well, respected her anyway. She didn't take any crap - even from the teachers. The first few times I was on her "ass-kicking" list, I avoided her and her groupies at all costs. If that meant walking outside the building to bypass "her" hallway, I'd freeze. If it meant not eating lunch that day so I wouldn't run into her in the cafeteria, I'd starve.

About the fourth round of possible beatings, I decided to approach the situation from a different angle. We were freshmen by this time and I knew that if I didn't eventually face her, my whole high school career would be jeopardized. I had no friends that were as strong as her and nobody that wasn't afraid of her.

I will never forget the moment. I can't tell you if it was winter or spring. I can't tell you the class I had before or after, but I remember where we were and what was said. It was right after gym class and we were standing by the East doors waiting for the dismissal bell. Dajuanna dared a couple of her buddies to leave early (punishable by after school detention). No one bit. Except me.

"I'll do it." I dared.

She looked at me with such disbelief that it fueled my fire. "If you dare to do it with me." I challenged.

Without another word, she grabbed my arm and we walked out of the gym. I could feel her looking at me so I glanced over and said, "that was cool," to which she responded, "yeah".

"Why?" she asked simply.

"Because I had to talk to you in private." I said.

Sarcastically, "So?"

I then began to tell her the whitest of white lies. I told her that there was this older girl (don't even remember her name) that wanted to beat me up and that I needed someone like herself on my side. The reality was that I only sensed that this other girl didn't like me, she never actually threatened me.

It didn't matter. From that day on Dajuanna was my protector, creating the illusion that I was to be feared as much as her. In fact, no one ever bothered me again in school. But I didn't use that to my advantage. I was nice to everyone.

And the selling skills were honed.

Surprise

2008-01-19T12:12:00.001-05:00

Possibly thinking about maybe hopefully, potentially posting again.

The Selfish Blogger

2007-01-23T11:19:00.000-05:00

It's official - I miss blogging. I miss my blog buddies and I miss the creative outlet. Big things are happening here. Life changing things. Things that might possibly sap even more of my time.
I've considered giving up on blogging altogether, but I'm not willing to do that just yet. The reason that I don't update my blog regularly is that any free time I have to devote to blogging, I feel like I need to visit my old pals and catch up and comment on their blogs. As a result, I just don't get online at all. But, I can't not blog. I'll just have to be selfish for a while and strictly post to my own blog without being a "part" of the blog community. Not that I don't care or that I'm not interested. I simply can't accomplish all I want to do.

Of course, in keeping with the definition of selfish, you can all still comment on my blog if you want. :) If not, I'll understand and hopefully, if certain endeavors come to fruition, I'll be able to return to a closer normal of blog regularity.

Secretary of State Triage

2006-11-08T16:56:00.000-05:00

When did the State hire a triage dude for the DMV? Who created this job and for what purpose? Some guy directing one huge line of people to a series of smaller lines - to hand me a slip of paper telling me that I'm number 89 and to sit down while they call me momentarily? Any fool knows that it will be more than momentarily when the lighted sign glares number 63!

Usually, I do my plate renewals online so I don't have to go through this circus of America's most challenged, but for whatever reason, the website wasn't recognizing my PIN number. A window popped up with various reasons why it may not be recognized and it said, "if your name is Michelle, you'll have to go to your nearest branch for renewal".

As I'm waiting, I'm watching the unfriendly clerks at each of their posts. As soon as they finish with a customer, instead of hitting a magical button and calling the next number, they take their time reorganizing their area and then they disappear into the back for a few minutes. To do what exactly?

Maybe, just maybe, this should be the triage person's duty. To help the clerks with whatever it is that they do between customers so you can get in and get the hell out!

That's the Way I Roll

2006-10-31T12:41:00.000-05:00

Okay, listen up! I'm gonna wake up at 7:22 every morning regardless of what time I went to bed the night before. Upon arising, I'll demand my first cup of "cogety milk" for the day. We'll forego any breakfast until I decide I'm hungry at which time I'll take an order of "faffles" or else you better be prepared to deal with a cranky toddler. You better make sure my cars are available to play with at all times and, oh yeah, Nemo should be playing on continuous loop throughout the day. Naps will be solely at my discretion. On the rare occassion that I do want to lay down, I better have some fuzz to pull or there will be no sleep for me and subsequently, you either. Bedtime will be when I collapse in sheer exhaustion and not before. I hope you're clear on all this, because that's the way I ROLL!

Midnight Rendevouz

2006-10-27T14:18:00.000-04:00

About once every two weeks or so, Drew wakes up in the middle of the night. Either because his allergies have him stuffed up, or because I accidentally wake him up with the click of the light switch turning off his closet night light. Once he's awakened, he thinks he needs to get up.

People have told me to just let him cry it out and he'll learn to stay in bed, but I want him to know that he can come to me anytime, even during the night. After the heartache it took to conceive him and the odds we beat having him with us still, I have no problem bringing him into bed with me on occassion. In fact, I love it.

Laying next to me, his soft hand resting in mine, he has to have his right foot laying on my body somewhere. Around 4:00 am, after being kicked repeatedly in the boobs and elbowed in the nose a few times, I'm ready to take him back to his bed, but in the first hours when he is still and I can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and smell his clean hair, there's no place I'd rather be.

Number on the Wall

2006-10-19T22:46:00.000-04:00

A submission for The Scheherazade Project

Life happens like that. You close your eyes to blink and in that instant, your world changes forever. I wonder if destiny really exists for all of us or are the events of our life orchestrated by the choices of others? I wonder what would have become of me if I hadn’t made that call. So many questions that can’t be answered in this lifetime, but it doesn’t stop a mind from wonderin’.

I remember the day vividly. My clothes clung to my skinny body in an uncomfortable wet hug. We didn’t have a car, so we walked the four blocks to Chums Diner. I should have been at school, but mom wouldn’t wake up that morning - still doped up on whatever she was able to get her hands on the night before. I waited in the cold apartment listening to my stomach growl, praying that she would open her eyes.

Finally, Mom began to stir. I held out the medicine bottle, the one she always asked for when her head hurt, and hoped she wouldn’t throw it at me. I knew she didn’t want to be mad at me, it was just her headaches that made her angry she would say. But now she smiled and told me to get my coat.

Other mornings I had to run to keep up with her, but this morning, Mom held my hand as we jumped over the puddles on the way to Chums. She slumped into a booth when we got there and I sneaked off to the bathroom. I knew Charlie would have a plate of French toast waiting for me when I came out. Charlie always looked at me with sad eyes -- like he knew something I didn’t.

In the bathroom, I saw a poster that I hadn’t seen before. I couldn’t read very well, not even for an eight year old, but I could tell by the pictures that the people wanted to help out mom’s like mine. I memorized the phone number. I didn’t read so good, but I could remember things.

I was tired of missing school and having no clean underwear. I was sick of always having an empty belly and dirty hair. I hated sitting alone on the playground on the days I did make it to school. I imagined a life like Brittney Brenner, always in pretty dresses with matching tights, her mother, thin and beautiful, volunteering at school. I wanted that life for me too and I wanted my mom to give it to me. I planned to call that number from Charlie’s phone when Mom fell asleep in the booth like she always did.

After I ate and Mom smoked a few cigarettes, her eyes started to blink slowly. I went up to the counter and asked Charlie if I could use the phone. He looked at me the way adults look at kids when they’re up to no good, but he handed me his phone anyway. I talked to a nice lady who said she’d help us out and told me to stay at Chums until someone came for me. I was so excited. Finally, my mom could be the mom I always wanted her to be. I knew she loved me, she just didn’t really know how to take care of me like other moms. Probably cause she didn’t have a mom herself.

It seemed like a long time, but finally an older lady came into the restaurant with a couple of cops and looked at Charlie. Charlie nodded toward the table where we were and they walked over to us. One police man put his hand around Mom’s arm and she jerked so hard that her knees hit the table underneath. She looked around nervously and then got real mad. She started yelling and swearing and when the police man tried to put both arms around her, she started hitting him and yelling even louder. Pretty soon, they were putting her in the cop car and the nice lady was holding my hand telling me everything was going to be okay.

But everything wasn’t okay. I went to live in someone else’s home that night. It wasn’t a home like Brittney’s and it wasn’t a home like I’d dreamed about. I didn’t get to see Mom again, she killed herself with a bed sheet they told me and I grew up a stranger in someone else’s house. I hate my mother. I miss her.

Was this my destiny?

This Old Life

2006-10-19T16:21:00.000-04:00

I've been meaning to post the final pictures of the Blogarita weekend, but I have like zero time to do anything these days. When I do have time, Blogger doesn't want to cooperate and let me upload photos, so that post will probably sit in my dashboard as a draft forever. Along with numerous other unfinished posts.

I think I have mono. It hasn't been confirmed by a doctor or anything, but I had it once ten years ago and I feel pretty much the same way. There's no mistaking the pain in my throat. It's not like a sore throat that accompanies a cold, but more like my tonsils are being ripped away from the tender lining of my throat each time I sneeze or even swallow.

Fortunately for me, I'm finally almost finished with my massive tile job. I only have to grout the backsplash now and I'm out of there. I still have to go back up north to put windows in and install siding, but I'm not sure how I'm going to work that into the schedule just yet.

Cheerleading is winding down with only one game left and not having to deal with outside maintenance now that it's fall has been a big time relief for me. As life goes though, stress never settles down in one area without it ramping up in another. I'm technically, unemployed now. The mortgage company that I work for is closing up shop so I have 30 days to close whatever I have in my pipeline, which is admittedly very little in comparison with last year.

I don't think I would have sought out a career change otherwise, but now I'm contemplating a new job altogether. I submitted a resume to a local newspaper company with a very good reference from someone on the "inside". It's a full time salary on a part time workload which is right up my ally. Not that I'm lazy or anything, I just need time for my other avenues of income. I've been waiting for a week to hear if I'll have an interview and the call finally came today. Sometime in the next two weeks, I'll be called in for the process.

Who wouldn't want to hire a "Highly motivated sales professional with extensive experience in marketing and operations management. Superior organizational, communication and administrative skills to ensure efficient customer satisfaction."???? You'd hire that person, wouldn't you?

Time will tell.

Blogaritaville - Day 2 (Part of it anyway)

2006-10-10T14:38:00.000-04:00

We were up earlier than any soul should be for going to bed at 2:30, but nonetheless, once Drew was awake, we were too. With the exception of Nelly, we all looked like shit. Sorry guys, but it's true. Puffy eyes, pillow case lines etched in our faces and hair askew. It was about this time that I realized the convenience of my earlier labors. I had cooked and frozen our breakfast days before, so all I had to do was pop it in the oven and then hurry myself into the shower.

Clew brought stuff for Mimosas, so we started the day off right. The breakfast of champions!

After breakfast we were on our way to yet another scrapbook store, but this time to work on a Halloween project. Here is a picture of Nelly and Chesney intent on their pages.

I know it doesn't seem like we should be eating again already, but we were hungry when we got back from the store and it really did take longer than it seemed to in this post. Lunch was chicken alfredo with garlic bread sticks. Me bending over the open dishwasher in the background is a nice touch, dontcha think?

You'll remember this post by Clew last week. This is the package she was talking about. She had the company deliver it to my house on Saturday. It was my birthday present -- two Willow Tree figurines. One titled "Sisters By Heart" the other, "Heart and Soul". The idea is that we'll each keep one and whenever we see eachother we swap figurines. Cool huh? Thanks sis. I love em!

Then Martie came over so we took some more pictures.

Then we scrapped again until it was time for dinner. Wet burritos and Mexican rice and a tasty black bean and corn salsa dip from Clew and a kind of chili conqueso dip from Ches. Both very delish.

And beer! CHEERS!!!

And finally, this was the lovely (aka butt crack) cake Nelly made for my birthday. Instead of cutting it we ate it like any group of well mannered ladies would.

Then the drinking and shenanigans began, which are best saved for another post......

The Weekend - Blogarita Style

2006-10-09T19:29:00.000-04:00

Day 1 ~

I had lots of surprises planned for the girls but Clew surprised me by arriving early on Thursday night. We spent the evening chatting and catching up and dozed off in the living room around 1 am. Chesneygirl and Nelly arrived the next morning around 10 where squealing and hugging ensued. After some chatting we went to see Martie and drop off Drew and our weekend commenced.

Nelly took this picture from the backseat. Apparently, I must have been excited to get where we were going because she caught me going 60 in a 35 mph zone. This must be where her fear of riding with me began. The rest of the weekend, I heard the following statements from the back seat: "Dude, don't hit those people." "Stop sign coming UP!" "Do you know where you're going?" "We're gonna crash!" Etc. You get the picture.

Finally, we were at our first stop. Atlanta Bread Company where we got soup, salad and sandwiches. I had given gifts to the girls with clues as to where we were going for lunch and when we finished at ABC, I gave them their second package with a new clue. Then we headed to Pages In Time, a mega scrapbooking store in my area so we could get supplies for the weekend and then we stopped at the mall.

The trunk doesn't look too bad for a shopping spree but consider that we only spent an hour at the mall. We decided together to forego the movie and just have dinner so we made the short trip to On The Border for mexican grub and margaritas.

Notice my big ol drink and further notice that Nelly is sipping on two! After we were full and a little tipsy, we started back to my house.....

....where we scrapped....

....and ate some more.

Clew brought some cool M&M's to surprise all of us. Look closely at the wording on the candy.

We crashed in the living room around 2:30 that night and woke somewhat refreshed for the next day. To be continued.....

Blogarita

2006-10-09T10:23:00.000-04:00

You may or may not know that Clew, Chesneygirl and Nelly were at my house for three days this past weekend and I intend to write in depth about it. Later. I know Blogger and Monday morning picture uploads are not a good combination. So check back later for a riveting tale of adventure and silliness.

Just Like the Pioneers

2006-09-25T11:06:00.000-04:00

We've been preparing for winter like little squirrels over here. Just like the first settlers rendered the fat and salted the pork, harvested and canned their vegetables and fruit and chopped and stock piled wood in preparation for the long, cold winters, we've been equally busy stashing away our winter forages too.

BEER!

We bottled over 30 gallons of beer this past weekend. Wheat, Oktoberfest, Brown Ale, Chai Tea Beer and Red Ale. OH! and we made 20 gallons of hard cider and five gallons of apple wine. We still have to make a couple Christmas beers too. Remember, this isn't all for our consumption. We do give it away as gifts and we have parties. I think we should open our own microbrew pub.

We also spent the weekend canning apples. We got all these apples (for only $20).....

and with the help of my good friend and neighbor.....

We turned them into this - applesauce and dessert apples for pies and such.....

(plus the five gallons of wine)

Paris for the Weekend

2006-09-20T06:37:00.000-04:00

During the several weeks when I was gone, I spent a weekend in Paris and the rest of the time jet-setting in Bel Air. Sounds so worldly doesn't it? In reality I spent a weekend canoeing in a backwards little village in Paris, Michigan and rather jet skied in the little knock about town of Bellaire, Michigan where we lived for six weeks. I recorded many things in my journal that I thought I would eventually post about, and maybe I will someday, but not today.

One thing I wanted to do was mention Owen on the anniversary of his death. Somehow not memorializing him on his day was almost as sad as the events of that awful day, but I suppose for healing to occur, you have to let go of some of the pain. So thus, another year has gone and the wound stings a little less. I did find a nice stone and had his name sandblasted on it along with a picture of a lamb to place by the tree we planted in his memory.

Steve is now a senior in high school. The moms out there who have kids graduating or already finished with high school know what I mean when I say how fast the time went, but those with small children look at us and see Steve as an adult and never imagine their own child being that old. I even think that way of Drew while Steve is proof before my eyes that kids grow up so quickly. Steve's a great kid. We've had our share of attitude with him, but the more I observe other teenage boys, I realize how lucky we are. He's a lot of fun to hang out with.

Emily, a freshman now, has received another flattering offer. We were contacted recently by a representative from The People to People Ambassador Program inviting Emily to tour and study in Paris (the real Paris) and Italy for three weeks in 2007. We have a meeting in October, but I'm not certain if I'm going to allow her to go. I would much rather she be a junior or senior for this kind of trip, but I also don't want to rob her of this opportunity. I haven't made up my mind yet.

We received some disappointing information on Drew. The kidney surgery he had last year wasn't as successful as we'd hoped. There's been some improvement, but the stage they are still rating the damage at would require surgery initially in a patient, but he may no longer be a candidate. We're not certain what all this means long term, but more tests are scheduled in November which require sedation. Think of me on November 8. I hate taking him to the hospital.

Work has been crazy. Now that we're pretty much finished with the house up north (we have to go back to install siding) I'm back to ceramic tile. This has been the job that never ends. That's where I'm headed now, so have a grand day.

One Year

2006-09-13T11:05:00.000-04:00

When you reach a certain age, it seems unlikely that you'll experience a major change in your self. I know a person never quits learning, but the biggest "coming of age" events usually happen sometime in the twenties.

Today's date marks one year since my very first post. When I first started posting, I was intimidated, nervous and self conscious. I never expected to be blogging a year later. Looking back through my posts, I can see how much I've grown over the last year. I kind of came into my own without really knowing it.

The self discovery at times was very painful and I grieved for certain things I had to leave behind in order to move forward. With encouragment and support from a handful of special bloggers, I've been able to arrive at a time in my life where I am excited about the future. There were a great number of years when I didn't have that excitement.

I'd like to personally thank each and every one of my readers - both the faithful that visit every day and those who no longer comment - for your support and patience, honesty and care. I look ahead with hope, excitement and new energy to another year in blogging.

Clear September Sky

2006-09-10T19:19:00.000-04:00

Like every American, I remember the events of 9-11 vividly. The shock when a plane crashed into the first tower of the World Trade Center and stunned horror when the second plane hit and the world knew at once that this was no accident.

I grieved with the nation as we waited to hear of survivors. But I'm ashamed to say that I also felt cheated.

I felt cheated out of my own grief. Only a very short month before (to the date), we lost Owen. At that point in my life, I wasn't capable of hurting any more than I already did. And I was extremely upset that the rest of the world had moved on, seemingly without me.

When the events of that day pushed my heartache to the proverbial back burner, something inside me became numb. It didn't seem fair that just because my baby didn't die in a tragedy as great as 9-11 that his death should be forgotten. I felt almost as if people expected me to stop grieving my son and join in a collective grief for our country.

Looking back, I realize how silly that sounds, but in that state of bereavement when nothing makes sense, the feelings were very strong. Still though, on the eve of the anniversary of that fateful day, I feel the emotions pulling their tug of war. I grieve for all of the families who lost loved ones at the hands of terrorists and I grieve for what I lost as well.

The Ravages of Time

2006-08-28T10:44:00.000-04:00

The Scheherazade Project: Theme - The Ravages of Time

Evidence proves that time takes everything new and beautiful and exciting and converts it to old and mishappen and dull.

A New Scheherazade Theme

2006-08-22T16:35:00.000-04:00

The following is a submission for The Scheherazade Project. I've been working on it for a long time. In fact, it's not even for the latest theme, but I want to post it anyway because I've been thinking about it for weeks. It's apparent that I wrapped it up quickly, but I'm sick of it not being done. Also, because I haven't had internet access, I haven't been able to research as in depth as I've wanted. Other than that, please leave any criticism. I'm posting from Mad Hatter's as I still have no computer.

PS: I forgot to mention the theme for the project. We had to work the following statement into a story - "I guess he/she was just born that way."

THE GHANAIAN SUMMER

The year was 1964. Beatlemania had just been conceived and the nation was still reeling from the recent assassination of John F. Kennedy. The war was escalating in Vietnam and Martin Luther King won the Nobel Peace Prize, but I wasn’t wrapped up in any of it. Instead, I was weaving baskets in Bolgatanga, Ghana.

Earlier that year, my parents announced that we would be spending our summer in Western Africa on a mission trip. Though my sister and me wanted to raise our voices in unified protest, we were both smart enough to remain silent. That night, however, in the cool darkness of Beth’s room, we whispered our contempt.

Dad tried his best to engage us in the excitement he and mom shared, but we dug in our heels. When he eagerly told us that it wasn’t customary to eat with or offer anything with our left hand in Africa, Beth quietly raised the middle finger of her left hand behind dad’s back. I smiled thinking of the secret giggles we shared, but the memory evaporated instantly with the moaning from the sick girl inside.

We had been in Bolgatanga for almost two months already and were having the time of our lives. While our parents were busy setting up the school, me and Beth spent our days weaving baskets with our group and sharing stories of America with our new friends.

That fateful day seemed hotter than normal and the biting flies seemed determined to leave our bodies peppered with welts. We slapped at them as we walked along the edge of the razor sharp elephant grass. I asked Neeway what had happened to Siatta’s fingers. Every day during basket time, I watched Siatta work. I couldn’t help staring at the knobby bumps where her fingers should have been and the pink skin stretched and shiny around her black hand.

Neeway paused as if remembering, “I dunno. I guess she be born dat way.”

Then the awful scream, reverberating through the heavy air and piercing my ears painfully. It took only seconds to react and I rushed to Neeway who was now laying in a crumpled ball, whimpering. I saw blood dripping from her leg a second before I saw the green snake coiled at the edge of the grass. My mind raced - Should I try to move Neeway or would any sudden movement cause the snake to lash out again? What kind of snake is it? Is it poisonous? How long do I have to get help. Run. Run and get help.

Now, days later, Neeway lay in a straw bed, feverish and unconscious save the occasional groaning. The Tindaana of the village had been engaged in prayer for the past three hours after the doctor told the family that this day would be critical. Members from the Gruhi tribe as well as surrounding tribes came in constant procession to make offerings and pray for the sick girl.

The calmness in my mother’s voice belied the fear in her eyes as she coaxed Neeway’s mother to eat some Waache, “You’ll need your strength Yamah. Your daughter will want you when she awakes. Eat.”

All day this went on. Yamah’s heartbreaking sobs, mom comforting, dad pacing and me praying that my friend would be okay. I dozed off to the hypnotic chanting of the Tindaana and was awakened to a flurry of movement and excited cries. “She’s awake Yamah, come quickly,” the doctor called.

It seemed hours before anyone emerged from the little hut again, but when Yamah and the doctor reappeared in the doorway, it was apparent they were very upset. Neeway had woke only to speak to her mother before closing her eyes permanently.

We stayed in Bolgatanga for another week to attend the Damba, the festival of thanksgiving, dedication and reunion. The entire tribe was there to celebrate the passing of Neeway from this life unto the next. I was sad. I didn’t understand the celebration while I was there, but over the years I grew to appreciate the value of life and to realize that death is just the beginning.

Temporary Hiatus

2006-08-22T11:22:00.000-04:00

Due to severe computer problems, I've been very much unable to blog or even return emails appropriately. I've been making the rounds through my neighborhood begging for computer time, but I never feel like I should be on very long.

This temporary outage should last for another week or two and then I'll be back full force to regale you with wonderful stories of my summer. Hope everyone is well.

Greetings from North Country

2006-07-26T12:34:00.000-04:00

"Up north is a state of mind."

I always thought that Michigan saying was a little corny until I spent a good portion of my summer here.

It probably only seems different because I'm away from my normal routine and forced to fill my time with more creative resources than I settle for at home. Still, time seems to move a little slower up here. Late nights and early mornings don't tax the body quite as much and afternoon naps are free of any guilt. The days are hotter, the nights cooler and the air crisper.

Dotted along the coast are idyllic little lake towns with their quaint shops and bistros and their grand marinas and white sand beaches. In between are cherry orchards with glimpses of Grand Traverse Bay beyond, antique shops and road side fruit and vegetable stands. You know you're getting close to another town when the snaking driveways are marked by carved wooden signs sporting names like "The Loony Bin" or "Cathy's Cove".

It doesn't matter how hot the day is, the breeze that comes off Lake Michigan keeps you cool and belies the power of the sun's burning rays. And the smell the breeze ushers in is more relaxing than the scent of lavender in springtime. When the water catches the sunlight and sends it blinding in a million directions, I feel as though I was born to live on the lake and am envious of the gigantic house boats floating in their rocking slips.

At the end of the day, pleasantly exhausted from the sun and wind, I sit watching the big orange ball falling slowly to the horizon, widening a trail of fire over the water. My skin feels tight with new color and the strands of hair whipped free of my pony tail lift in the breeze. Thoughts race through my mind and I think, "Up north is definitely more than a state of mind. It's a feeling - a new memory with nostalgia already built in."

Perspective - A Scheherazade Project Entry

2006-07-12T23:40:00.000-04:00

A second submission for The Scheherazade Project. This week's theme: "Don't Fear the Blue Monkey" (Criticism welcome)

***************************

The soft, echoing thump of the base could be heard before Shelby even opened the door to the club. She glanced nervously across the street before shouldering her way into the smoke filled atmosphere of the Bressa Del Rio.

Once inside, her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and quickly scanned for an available table. She wanted something obscure; somewhere they could have their privacy without having to yell over the music. Taking a seat at a table near the back, the band belting out their rendition of Sweet Home Alabama, Shelby wondered again if she was in over her head. Even though she had quit smoking years ago, she longed for a cigarette to soothe her nerves and occupy her shaky hands.

A waiter appeared. "I noticed you're keeping an eye on the door. Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, sorta," Shelby replied, already annoyed with the lanky employee whose name tag said simply, 'Bub'.

"You wanna wait or order a drink?" Bub asked.

When Shelby told him that she wanted a Sam Adams Summer Ale, Bub tried to convince her that she really wanted one of the specialty drinks. She glanced at the door again as he rattled off the list of choices, "......Apple Martini, Rum Runner, The Blue Monkey....."

"Wait, what the hell is a Blue Monkey?" she asked trying her best to sound annoyed.

Not picking up on her irritation, Bub recited the ingredients. "Blue Curacao, Banana Liquor and pineapple juice. Trust me, it will get you feeling right."

She nodded, anxious for the waiter to leave. She needed to think before he arrived. Needed to decide what she was going to do if he actually showed up. They'd been talking for months, her and Ben, but for all intents and purposes, they were practically strangers. She wasn't even sure she'd recognize him if he walked in. Still, she had real feelings for this guy. She longed to feel his touch, his kiss, to be part of his world; but sitting here now, she wasn't sure about any of those things.

Shelby noticed that her drink was on the table and she took a long sip, hoping for an instant buzz. It was actually very tasty and she quickly finished it as the band sang a Pink Floyd song. Shelby tapped her foot to the beat already feeling the affects of the alcohol. She motioned for Bub to bring another.

Where was Ben anyway, she wondered. A peek at her cell phone told her that she hadn't missed a call. It also confirmed that he was half an hour late. Her mind replayed their recent telephone conversations. Did she misinterpret his affection for her? Did she make too much of the poems and letters he wrote to her? She really hadn't thought about what she'd do if he didn't come. She finished her second drink.

When Bub came to suggest a third Blue Monkey, Shelby had to turn away so she wouldn't see the sympathetic look in his eyes. She didn't want Bub of all people to know she was being jerked around and she especially didn't want his pity. "Maybe he got caught in traffic," Bub offered.

Shelby bit back the urge to say something nasty and instead countered, "How about that drink?"

Half way through that one, her apprehension turned to anger. She dialed Ben's cell number. No answer. Shit. An hour and fifteen minutes late now. He wasn't going to come. Her mind juggled the humiliation, anger and disappointment, each emotion a giant ball suspended in the stale air. She threw thirty dollars on the table and hurried to the door before the concerned waiter saw her again.

She was relieved to see a taxi waiting half a block away and she ran toward it, the pounding of her feet echoing in her broken heart. She fell into the back seat with tears stabbing at her eyes. Her throat constricted around a sob but she managed to choke out to the driver, "Just go."

As her cab pulled away, the door to the Bressa Del Rio opened again and a dark haired man walked in. Breathless from running, his eyes frantically searched for a blond woman sitting alone, waiting. Waiting for him.

It's My Blog and I'll Cry if I Want To

2006-07-08T14:01:00.000-04:00

Managing three kids, one of whom has a recently developed an interest in finger painting with his own poo, is energy draining enough; but add three jobs on top of that and you'll understand why I haven't been around much.

Because I have so much going on, neither of my three jobs are getting done adequately or efficiently. The ceramic tile job I'm currently working on is kicking my ass. I've already placed 770 square feet of the stuff and the home owners keep finding new rooms for me to do. I've done a 14' x 14' dining room with diamond patterns in each corner which is connected to a kitchen where I had to lay tile under a stove, refrigerator, dishwasher, and desk AND go around an island in the center of the kitchen and a bar on the other end. This all leads to a hallway and a sitting room where there is a 2 1/2' border around an inset carpet area. Continue down the tiled hallway to a laundry room on the right where it eventually spills into an entryway with a closet. There is also a separate 9' x 6' pantry that doesn't touch any of the other tile. Nothing is grouted yet and now they want me to do a mud room and three bathrooms. My knees and my back are shot and there is a blister/callous on my hand that feels like a rock under my skin from the trowel.

I'm exhausted at the end of the day, but I have still have to meet with clients to fill out mortgage applications, write purchase agreements and meet with the inspectors. Sometime during all this, I have to find time to put the mortgages together. I have to shop it amongst 400 lenders to find the best program that will suit the needs of the borrower. No surprise that I have two extremely hard deals going right now. I searched and searched for two weeks for a lender to finance a particularly complicated deal and when I called the buyer to get the necessary paperwork, she informed me that she didn't file taxes last year. When I told her two weeks ago that I needed them, she said it wasn't a problem. Just like that, the deal is gone and another one is falling apart as I type - after weeks of wasted time, thank you very much.

After the work is done and everyone is fed, bathed and in bed, I have about an hour to myself if I can stay awake until 11pm. I haven't had time to write or blog or read or do any of the things I work into my daily schedule. My outdoor flowers are dead, my garden needs weeding, the vehicles are dirty, the laundry is piled up and the house is a mess.

And if I have to read Clonkey, Bonkey, Donkey the minute I walk through the door one more time, I might indeed lose it permanently.

A Short Interruption

2006-06-27T08:56:00.000-04:00

To my daily readers,

I am interrupting my normal posts to submit a story in The Scheherazade Project. The story is in the post below. Please, don't feel the need to worry about me or my state of mind. The story was based on how I felt at one time, but I'm okay now, really.

Enjoy.

PS: Feel free to leave any criticism.

"Emptiness" - The Scheherazade Project

2006-06-27T00:17:00.000-04:00

As the last remnants of sleep lifted from her body and mind, she absently placed a hand on her belly and the horror of the previous day came plunging back. Remembering was more painful than a physical blow as she realized the flat area she rubbed had been swollen with life at this exact time yesterday. Now, the emptiness loomed like a brick wall, stopping her from getting out of bed - from breathing.

She wondered if she could kill herself by simply holding her breath. No, she rationalized, she’d pass out first and her body’s instincts would take over to keep her alive. She imagined the reaction of her family finding her motionless after swallowing a mixture of the pain killers and anti-depressants the hospital had given her.

No one seemed to be grieving the way she was. Nobody shared the emptiness in her body and soul. After all, she never knew the baby that had lived inside her for more than half a year. And she was young, she could always have another. That’s what everyone said anyway, hoping to make her feel better, but in the end making her feel even more desolate.

She was alone. Her baby was gone. Life as she knew it was gone. She twisted the cap off the bottle and let one pill slip down her throat. Then another, and another…until the contents of the bottle filled the emptiness in her belly.

Northern Adventures

2006-06-26T10:20:00.000-04:00

Sitting in the woods beneath a black-streaked vinyl awning attached to a 1961 Airstream travel trailer with a couple aging hippies and three dogs was definitely not how I imagined spending my weekend away.

My visions of tooling up the coast, hair whipping in the summer wind, stopping for wine tasting and beach combing were dashed the minute we turned up that dusty, "seasonal--not-maintained-by-the-county", two-track road.

We were simply going to check on a future job site, chat for a few minutes and get back to enjoying our vacation in Northern Wine Country. We didn't intend on staying the whole afternoon, we didn't intend on sharing their vegetarian dinner and we certainly didn't intend on drinking home made beer around the campfire into the dark hours of the night. But that's exactly what happened.

The couple, who were actually an ex-couple but still "get together" regularly were very persistent about our staying. He was a cross between Santa Claus and Willie Nelson with his silver pony tail tucked inside itself and wrapped with multiple rubberbands. She was a thin, long haired thing with yellow, rubbery skin and carried a faint scent of sandalwood. She looked perpetually stoned, but they were the nicest, most generous and genuine people you'd ever care to meet.

We met them again for lunch the next day at a perfect little Micro Brewery called "Shorts" for cheese pizza and a couple Growlers (a 64oz jug filled with whichever home brew you choose) before we parted ways for the rest of the weekend.

More observations and events from my mini-vacation as time allows....

Mini-Vacation

2006-06-22T15:22:00.000-04:00

I'm in much need of a little R&R so I won't be around again until Sunday. With interesting stories to tell, no doubt. Have a grand weekend y'all!

Dear Friend...

2006-06-19T20:50:00.000-04:00

...or should I say ex-friend? I've had it with your third grade bull shit! If you've got something to say about me, be a big girl and say it to me. Did you really think talking to my friends wasn't going to get back to me? You're done telling me who I can and can't like and you're done making your stupid little digs. I'm done being nice. I'm tired of treating you with kid gloves. You wanna be my friend? Grow some thicker skin. And a fucking back bone. I'm through pretending everything is okay. You've pushed me too far this time and I'm erasing you from my world.

Good riddance, I didn't much care for you to begin with.

Lobsterfest Report

2006-06-18T11:22:00.000-04:00

Lobster rocks! It's a ton of work to eat them, but it is so worth it. They were delicious.

You were right Meritt, we did find all our lobster paraphanalia at Target. We split the cost and plan to share the goodies, so it's just like 2/$1, right? Doesn't the setting look fun?

Even our guys humored us by wearing the corny lobster chef hats we bought. Even though it was 90 degrees and humid. Don't feel too badly for them. They kept cool with Pina Coladas and wheat beer.

Here's the killing. By the expressions on the faces, there's no need to explain the picture. I was standing further away than it appears so I couldn't see or hear anything. Thank goodness for the zoom feature.

I didn't have a problem serving them up though.

You would have been proud Theresa. I made a huge mess with mine and even have a blood blister from the "claw cracker". We also had cocktail shrimp, king crab legs and corn on the cob. We forgot about the pineapple and no one saved room for the ribs, so we ate those the next night.

This was the last picture we took before we retired to the hot tub for the rest of the evening.

Oh, Spinner, I think I would have been better with the whole murder thing thinking they were insects until I read Unacknowledged Genius' comment about eating them.

Lobster Bake

2006-06-16T10:36:00.000-04:00

In all my 37 years, I've never eaten lobster. Can you believe someone that has so much adventure in their life has yet to taste this treat? And I'm doing it right, I tell ya. We, together with our close friends, are having lobster flown in from Maine today and are going to attempt to boil them ourselves. We've got all the fixins:

Tools we'll need to dine

Lobster-themed dinnerware

Crab legs

Shrimp cocktail

Ribs (just in case)

Corn on the cob

Pineapple

Pina Coladas

Beer

Crackers & Cheese

What I'm not prepared for is the killing of these poor creatures. I was so hoping they'd arrive dead having been packed in ice for their commute, but not so. They are coming in a "live crate" with gel ice packs. They will be alive and kicking. I do believe you have to put them head first into boiling water to kill them but the "screaming" you hear is only the air escaping from their shell. And I heard that you can hear them banging against the side of the pot. The nice gentlemen on the other end of the line tried to relax my anxiety by telling me that they don't have vertabrae or a central nervous system and don't feel pain. I'll choose to believe this because I honestly wont be able to kill them. If left up to me, I'll have six pet lobsters come Saturday morning.

Yes, I know ribs used to be alive too, Mr. A,JA, but I'm not the one that actually had to witness their demise or worse, be the cause of it. I feel a little sick to my stomach even thinking about it. And then, what if I don't like them? OH! I wonder if it's too late to cancel the order.

Allow This MaMa a Little Bragging

2006-06-13T23:20:00.000-04:00

I refrained from boasting when my daughter won an award for writing last week and I didn't gush about her high GPA or the speech she wrote for her election to student council, but this I can't pass up. I have to post about her latest honor because I am so proud of her.

She was nominated by a teacher and accepted by members of the Congressional Board to attend the Congressional Youth Leadership Council in January to represent our district. It's a four day conference in which she will learn leadership development (self-awareness, leadership techniques, presentation skills and group dynamics) and then she'll be able to practice leadership skills (conflict management, decision making and project management).

I feel it's an opportunity of a lifetime and she's equally excited about going even though she'll have to make a presentation in front of 430 Congress members and who-knows how many other students. Did I mention she's only going to be a freshmen next year?

Touring the Past

2006-06-09T12:09:00.000-04:00

I've been very distracted with childhood memories lately. The start of summer usually does it to me, but this year I've seemed to relapse into a perpetual state of daydreaming. It's not like I dislike my current life, the warm weather has just reminded me of simpler days with no responsibilities - no coordinating schedules and making sure there's food in the house, no laundry and cleaning, no bill paying and worrying about money.

I had such a stress-free childhood really, with so many fond memories that I can't help but long for those times. Life doesn't seem to be as simple for kids today.

Rather than fighting the reminiscing, I decided to embrace it by taking a "tour of the past". I gathered some appropriate CD's and set out on my own. I visited lots of the places that I think about often as well as a few that I haven't thought of in years. At the park, I imagined a younger me, tossing a softball from the pitchers mound and an even younger version of me playing on the monkey bars that sit adjacent to that park.

This was the park where I hit my first home run, and there was the Ice Cream Hut where the coach took me afterward for a malt. The same place I would later be employed - leaning out the window on my teenage elbows looking for cute boys.

There were the Monkey Trails where I rode my bike (against the rules) and ran into a couple of older boys who took great delight in teasing me.

And there was the house with the rhubarb from this post!

The curve on the gravel road where Wendy was killed in a tragic accident after a party.

The yard where we used to play baseball and where I experienced my first kiss.

There was the house of my first boyfriend whom I still think so fondly of, and the porch we used to sit on dreaming about what we wanted to do.

The culvert where we used to wade, catching frogs.

I found the raspberry bushes that we used to pick clean every year.

I even drove past my old house. The trees and bushes are much bigger and you can catch a glimpse of the in-ground pool that we spent so many hot hours in between the shrinking slats of wood fence.

Then I went past my best friend's house and stopped in front of the lane leading to the forest creek that I described in this post and then continued on up to the bank where I opened my first checking account.

So many memories were swirling on the dusty gravel roads making me long for those times even more. A grief counselor once told me of Owen after he died, "you tend to glorify him as a perfect baby, but no doubt, there would have been times that he'd cry and keep you up at night and you'd become frustrated". I thought of this as I finished up my tour. I remember the dreams I had for myself and the life I envisioned myself living and it's not even close to today's reality, but I recalled the statement from the counselor. I know now that I'm idolizing an alternate future for myself. One that surely would have had just as many disappointments and heartaches as my current life. And living that alternate reality, I'd erase all the wonderful things that happened to me as an adult.

Although it's sometimes difficult, I'm on the road that I'm meant to be on, I can rest assured in that.

A Chance Meeting

2006-06-04T11:31:00.000-04:00

SURPRISE!!!! Michelle & Chesneygirl Meet!!!

...at the Kenny Chesney concert in Grand Rapids, MI. After whining on Friday about not being able to go to the concert, Chesneygirl sent me to an eBay link that had tickets up for auction. She then gave me her cell number in case I was able to win them. I didn't! But, I found another person who was desperately trying to part with four floor tickets and I snatched them up. I called Chesneygirl to tell her the good news and we made tentative plans to meet at the BOB, where I would call her again to find her.

So we headed downtown at 5pm and parked relatively easy despite the fact that it was a sold out show and the Art Festival was also going on. One of my neighbors went with us and we got in the long line to gain entry into the BOB. That's when I was certain I saw Chesneygirl in line. I recognized her hair from the back - I'm really not sure how, so I called her cell phone to see if it was her. I saw the girl fumbling for the phone in her purse and she answered, "Hello?".

"OMG, where are you?" Me

"I'm just going into the BOB." CG

"I KNOW!! I'm right behind you" Me

We spent the next hour and a half taking pictures and chatting while I tried to win "Sand Bar" tickets and then we walked to the concert together where we immediately got separated. She did manage to find me between Dierks Bentley and Kenny to rub in my face how awesome the Sand Bar really was. Pthththt. I didn't see her again after that.

But it was so awesome to meet you Chesney. You're just as fun in person as you appear on your blog. And maybe, just maybe, we'll meet you down at MIS in your big ol party bus! :) Here's a picture of Kenny when he entered back by where I was. Let me know if you want me to email you any pictures.

Rhubarb and Kittens

2006-05-30T13:00:00.000-04:00

I was eleven years old and the day was hot and dusty. A day made for chewing on stalks of grass and drinking lemonade. It was the first time I'd seen and tasted rhubarb. Every season when the weather first gets warm and humid, I can't help but think about that day. And I can't have Rhubarb without thinking of that mattered-eye kitten.

I was in grade school and life on a farm was something that I longed to have. I loved animals and I was at the age where farm chores seemed like fun, not work. I preferred to be barefoot and the dirtier I got, the cooler I felt. I was afraid of nothing. Put me on a horse with no saddle and I'd hang on to the mane and squeeze my little knees into the mare's sides and ride as long as she'd let me. I'd bounce up and down against the horse's back as she would trot and prance through mud and then loosen up my grip as she made the beautiful transition from bumping to a smooth full on run.

It was hot that day - even for a kid that loved being outside. After dinner, we went out to the pasture to walk the top of the fence. I feared falling inside and having the bull chase me, but the thrill of the danger won out and I walked the entire length, back and forth almost hoping I would lose my balance and fall so I could scramble up as fast as I could, heart racing.

Finally bored with the fence walking, we hopped down and strolled into the barn. The hay smelled sweet and the barn wood dry. Little rays of sun sliced through the wood slats and cut a laser of illuminated dust in the otherwise gray light. We gave bottles of milk to the calves who were "bla-a-ating" to be fed and monkeyed around with some farm tools before we meandered out the front doors and down the rocky driveway.

It felt even hotter on the dry gravel road and our feet kicked up clouds of dust that stuck to the milk that had spilled on our legs. The horseflies were annoying, trying to bite at our sweet, sweaty skin.

There, near the ditch across the street, the leafy plants with the long, purpley celery stems came into view. "What are those?" I asked.

"That's just rhubarb," Beth said matter-of-factly, "Try some. It's good."

It didn't look good, but my sense of adventure took over and I broke off a stalk, cleaned it with my dirty shirt and chomped the end off. It took only a second to register that it was sour. So sour that it stung the hollow part between my jaw and my ear and I spit it on the ground.

That's when we heard the mewls coming from up near the house. We followed the sound to a lilac bush next to the front porch where we found three tiny kittens. They were black and grey striped and probably about six weeks old. We drug them out from their little hideaway to cuddle and play with them, but we noticed one in particular didn't have her eyes open. It didn't look right. She was trying to open them, but had all this dried, crusty matter over them. We scooped her up and brought her to the house where Grandma Schaendorf fetched a warm, wet washcloth and slowly began wiping the kitten's eyes. After her tender care, the little girl that we named Crusty opened her blue eyes and blinked a few times as if thanking us. Delighted with our new friend we took her back outside to join her siblings where we sat for several minutes playing with them.

The mosquitos were starting to swarm in the long grass and we eventually got tired of slapping them away and headed back home to get cleaned up.

While this kind of day doesn't sound quite as appealing to me as it did at one time, I love reliving the events over and over in my head.

I Wish--That--I Knew What I Know Now (boom boom) When I Was Younger

2006-05-26T00:49:00.000-04:00

Floating cotton on warm, lazy currents

The smell of dry meadow grass parched by the afternoon sun

Dust swirling in dissipating clouds around bare feet

The droning dissonance of summer insects

Blurred images across the hazy fields

Whispered secrets

The coolness of the forest shelter

Harsh landscape variations

Hot, dusty feet sliding into the creeks motion

Cool water flowing like silk through toes

Sunlight dancing between leaves

twinkling in callow eyes

A sense of security

A sense that all will remain

Unchanged

And then we grow up

Forgetting the magic of childhood

And the beauty of it's simplicity

These Kids are Going to be the Death of Me

2006-05-25T14:32:00.000-04:00

Picture added to satiate Plimco's morbid self. Take great delight in the pain and suffering of my baby. Of course, it doesn't look all that bad 3 days later. If you don't look directly at the blister, you can see it better.

I've been to the doctor's office every day this week followed by a subsequent trip to the pharmacy. Monday was Emily's turn to be seen. She has had a wart that we cannot get rid of with over the counter treatments, so we had to go to the peed. It was no big deal as Drew had his well-baby check up that day too, complete with shots. Emily's wart was too close to a joint to freeze, so we were prescribed some stronger acid to treat her which cost about $60.

Tuesday, Drew has a reaction to his shots. Or so I thought. After he started pushing on his leg and crying, I took his pants off too see what was bothering him. His little thigh was sporting a hot welt about the size of a coffee cup. I called the pediatrician who told me to bring him in right away. Turns out that he has a staph infection from the needle. I know, believe me, I was pissed too. The doctor traces the borders, takes a picture of it, administers an antibiotic and gives a prescription to continue at home with instructions to take him to ER if he develops a fever or if the welt grows past the markings.

Wednesday, Steve gets sick with "the worse sore throat ever". Drew's bump has grown by an inch is hot and leathery and even has some blisters on it. I make another trip to the peed's office with all kids in tow. Steve has strep and receives an antibiotic and Drew gets a stronger medicine to fight his infection. A powder antibiotic that I have to reconstitute and give to him for ten days. At $80 a day.

Today, fortunately, everyone seems well. Drew's leg has visible improvement and he's no longer grumpy. Steve's throat is feeling better and Emily is doing acid. One bright note, Drew can't catch Steve's strep because of all the antibiotics he's on. Let's hope I don't get it too.

The Island

2006-05-23T10:23:00.000-04:00

Mackinac that is, pronounced Mack-e-naw for those of you who aren't from the north. Mackinac is a beautiful place to go, even when it's cold and rainy. It is very touristy in the summer months, but it's also a little like stepping back in time.

After a 20 minute ferry ride across Lake Huron, arrival on the island is the beginning of your horse or bike transport. It's the only way to get anywhere unless you want to foot it, which sucks when it's blustery cold and the rain drops are slushy.

The only motorized vehicles on the island consist of an ambulance and a fire truck which ironically, crashed into each other as they were racing to meet some ferry passengers that got a little roughed up on the turbulent waters.

Shops! There are shops and bistros galore on Main Street and what is a quaint little setting during the day turns into Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras at night. There is no cover charge for most of the bars and the alcohol flows like water. Since no one has to drive, there isn't any holding back when it comes to limit. What people fail to realize though is that they still need to ride their bike back to their residence or hotel after 10 or 12 rounds. I seriously think biking is more dangerous than driving a vehicle when you are drunk. About 1 a.m. things get really interesting. We're talking some metal mangling, knock-the-wind-out-you bike crashes.

The wedding was beautiful, but cold. It was right on the water so the bride was wrestling with her veil for the entire ceremony. At one point, it was wrapped around her head twice and I sensed a bit of panic from her when she couldn't find her way out. The music didn't work, the kids freaked out and wouldn't sing their solo and the rose petals we threw went up and blew away instead of making a romantic path for the newly married couple to glide over. At least the sun came out during the exchange of vows before the skies opened up in time to transport all 50 guests in carriages to Main Street for the reception. The bride looked like an Afghan dog when it was all said and done.

Despite the weather, we had a good time with our friends on the island. I can't seem to catch up on my sleep though. I feel exhausted. I'd like to post pictures, but looking through them, there aren't many that I feel comfortable sharing. I have a special one for you, Dribbler that I can't post here either. Think Ronald McDonald.

Here are some pictures I can show:

The view from our hotel.

Main Street.

The docks.

And I couldn't resist taking this picture on the ride home. Is this a suggestion or a warning?

Humorously, there was no squeegee in the bucket!

Hiatus

2006-05-18T23:39:00.000-04:00

This may seem spur of the moment, but I will be gone for a while.

Enjoy this video about safe sex in my absence. (Note: If you are offended by cartoon characters "doing it", you don't need to view.)

PS: The link does work but apparently the site is having some difficulty. Keep trying.

Golden Boy

2006-05-18T12:24:00.000-04:00

At seeing the title, I know you got really excited, Itchy, thinking that I was gonna do a write up on your lovely retriever. But, alas, the post title is in reference to a Seinfeld episode in which Jerry loses a treasured article of clothing (his yellow shirt, "Golden Boy") to the rigors of laundering.

I have a "Golden Boy" that isn't going to survive many more wash cycles. A pair of work out sweats from abercrombie. Not Abercrombie & Fitch, mind you, but abercrombie, as in kids. You can see why these are a prized article of attire. What an ego boost to actually have fit into something from a kids store. Granted I got them five years ago and they are really stretched out. Still, I won't be able to squeeze my ass into a new pair of anything from abercrombie ever again.

So I don't want these pants to fall apart any more than they already have. Both the knees and crotch are very thin - almost to the point of transparency. (I realize I'm opening myself up to all sorts of obscene jokes by mentioning the areas of thin material, but it's the truth.) The hem is worn away and the back of the cuff is all but gone. It's at least one inch shorter than the front of the pant leg. The band at the top has opened up to reveal the place where the drawstring once was. The stripe down the side of each leg is holey and tattered. But they are thee most comfortable article of clothing I own. They stay put when I bend over and they don't display half my ass when I sit indian style.

I've quit running them through the dryer and opted to hang them instead to increase their wearable life, but I still fear time is running out. It will be a sad, sad day when I can no longer wear my beloved pants.

Brought to You by the Letter "T"

2006-05-16T22:59:00.000-04:00

Chesneygirl had this on her blog the other day and assigned me the letter "t"

Here's how it works: You take your assigned letter and then write 10 words that start with that letter and explain why they are important to you. If you wanna play, let me know in the comments and I'll assign you a letter.

TIME: Time is very important to me. I appreciate it's value very much and I hate to waste it.

TRUST: Equally important, it is very hard to regain once it's lost.

TRUE FRIENDS: There is nothing like the comfort of a good friend.

TOWANDA: AKA, Clew. She's more important to me than I can ever describe.

TREE: Well not all trees, but the weeping cherry tree that I planted in memory of my son Owen. I don't sit by it everyday, but I would be very upset if something happened to it.

TOM: My step dad. He's important to me because he is so important to my mom.

TASTE: Never really thought about that one, eh? But it's pretty important. Life would be pretty bland without it.

TOP SOIL: At the present time as we are putting a lawn in and battling very sandy conditions without it.

TALKING: Talk therapy with a friend is the biggest stress reliever in my life.

TRIALS: Although they are no fun to endure, they do tend to make you aware of the good stuff in your life.

TRIUMPHS: Coming through the trials a whole new person.

Look at that. I didn't think I'd make it to ten and I somehow ended up with eleven. At least I didn't have TALLYING listed here as something important to me.

This is What Happens When....

2006-05-15T23:29:00.000-04:00

you have an 18 month old and you take cold medicine that doesn't say "non drowsy".

Stop Here for Reality Check

2006-05-15T13:32:00.000-04:00

Ah yes, Mother's Day. Ranks right up there with Christmas in the holiday stress level of family gatherings. With seven siblings and 23 grandchildren running throughout a few crowded rooms, someone's bound to snap right?

I enjoy Mother's Day. I do. There was a time right after Owen died, that Mother's Day was just another reminder of what I didn't have and I shot evil glances at the mom's in church that seemed less than enthusiastic about their day of honor.

This year, I look at mother's in a different light. A comical perspective. As I grew bored with the message, I let my eyes drift over each of the little families in church yesterday. Most of the moms looked tired and annoyed, having no doubt waken up early to retrieve their offspring from the warm confines of bed to fight about breakfast choices and appropriate church apparel. Some moms in the rush of getting the family ready to go, looked like they somehow forgot to comb their own hair. I reach up subconsciously to smooth my own tangled locks. Then there comes a loud bang from somewhere in the middle section of pews followed by a brief period of silence and then earth shattering wails. A mother stands up with a boy tossed across her hip and makes her way to the back of the sanctuary with a look of embarrassed apology on her tired face. Her other children whimpering in her wake.

I think of my grown children and of my little one and marvel at the amount of work and energy level that each age group takes. I sigh a contended little sigh knowing they are secure in my love for them.

To all the moms out there and to all the woman who desperately want to be mothers, hang in there.

A Different Course

2006-05-11T11:40:00.000-04:00

I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. When I was little, I used to copy chapter books word for word and pretend that I had written them (before I knew what plagiarism meant). In middle school and high school, my term papers and book reports always carried high marks and my friends would beg me to write their papers too. My Creative Writing teacher even used one of my poems for teaching purposes which he still uses today in class. It started out:

Pegasus flew me

with his mighty wings

to a mythical mansion

where held captive - my king

(Give me a break, I was only 14)

I went to college on a Sullivan scholarship for writing. I earned my diploma in business, but received a minor in English. Again, my essays and reports were well received by my profs.

During the rocky years of my first marriage, I lost interest in a lot of things. I came to believe that I wasn't good at anything, especially writing. Part of it was due to the intense verbal abuse and part of it hinged on my own maturity level. It's easy to say that you don't care what someone thinks about you and your work, but when the people who are supposed to love you most berate you, the already low confidence level sinks even further.

After the divorce six years later, I decided to try my hand at writing again. I enrolled in a writer's class, but I was very rusty. The hardest part was trying to undo everything I came to believe about myself. By the end of the six month course, with the help of my instructor, I had a children's book ready to publish. I opted for the children's market because they are such a forgiving market with very little critics. Kids like anything, right? I never even sent the manuscript out. I never want to.

When I had proved to myself that I could at least do it, I set my writing goals aside to raise my children and start a new life. I was okay with that decision. Other things were more important to me at the time and I had yet to learn the fine art of balancing career, kids, and time for myself. I focused all my energies on the kids and our business.

Ten years later, the desire to write was awakened in me again after our son Owen died. I wrote a lot of poetry in the few months after his death and even started three separate books. Each with a different perspective on the silent death of stillbirth.

If I thought my writing skills were rusty before, they were all but corroded at this point. It was even harder to form tangible thoughts and more difficult to put them smoothly on paper. It was an easy decision to abandon my dream once again.

Five years later, this blog is a result of my restlessness. My urge to write is somewhat fulfilled by my ramblings here, but it still isn't enough. I decided last December that I wanted to follow my dream once again and write a book. But this time, I wanted to go about it differently. Rather than jump right in and become overwhelmed yet again, I decided to devote at least a half hour a day to writing something - anything. To do writing exercises daily to strengthen my craft. I subscribed to magazines such as Writer's Digest and Narrative Magazine in an effort to get "back in touch" with today's markets. The result is a notebook brimming with ideas and descriptive writings, poems and a bunch of ramblings that don't make any sense. And I continue to fill it daily even if it's simply writing down a quote that I think I'll reference someday.

I often wonder what will become of my little journals and scraps of paper if something ever happens to me. Who will find them and read them? What will they think about the person they didn't really know? Would they throw my thoughts away or treasure them as a keepsake?

Either way, I'm at least working toward my dream and have developed some habits that will make the journey easier.

(Yeah, my day got drastically rearranged and I had more time than I originally thought)

The Forgotten Post

2006-05-10T23:26:00.000-04:00

Up since 6:30 a.m., I am 16 hours, two meals, seven baby diaper changes and four ineffectual allergy pills into my day. I am officially in a bad mood. I don't want to go to bed because I have a crazy busy day on Thursday that will start sooner than I want if I go to sleep. Yet, I can barely keep my red-rimmed, watery eyes focused on the computer screen.

I missed my 100th post. It came and went without any fanfare. No little celebration commemorating the often painful conveyance of thought to word, no streamers shouting congratulations for not giving up, no special little post marking the big milestone.

I'm kidding. Well, maybe not totally. I was working on a really cool idea for the 100th post and now I don't feel like using it. You'd understand my disappointment if you knew this post has taken lots of planning and coordinating on my part and it still isn't finished.

Anyway, I'm in a pissy mood because of that and other extenuating circumstances and I won't be around much Thursday if at all. In case you were wonderin'.

© 2006 Michelle (nnm)

The Not-So-Pretty-Side of Motherhood

2006-05-09T23:18:00.000-04:00

Did I mention I got my carpets professionally cleaned last week? Have I also mentioned that the increasingly mischievous Drew has learned to hide when he's doing something he shouldn't be doing?

I was on a business call last Friday when I noticed he was being particularly quiet. I found him in the pantry in a pile of Special K, Fruit Loops and Grape Nuts. Not just one box opened and dumped on the floor, but three!! And he was working on the Honeycombs. You can't really freak out and yell at your kid while you are in the middle of going over someone else's finances so I ushered him harshly out of the pantry and away from the mess which he was trying to eat. I needed to jot down some information and I swear I only turned around for ten seconds. He made it back into the pantry, retrieved the hot cocoa mix and toddled back out to the dining room carpet where he promptly dumped it too. It wouldn't have been so bad, except the dog started to lick up the yummy mess which turned it into liquid and stained my newly cleaned carpet. (Wait, dogs aren't supposed to have chocolate right? Does cocoa mix count?)

Fast forward to Sunday when I was getting ready for church. I thought my husband was keeping an eye on the boy, and he thought Drew was with me. We found him with a tube of my lipstick sitting on my silk duvet cover mashing it through his chubby fingers. He was covered, the duvet cover was covered, and yep, you guessed it, the carpet was covered too. Not to mention that the patches of white fur on the dog are now a pretty shade of dusky wine.

Now it's Tuesday. I'm worried that my baby has bulemic tendencies. He enjoys sticking his fingers down his throat until he gags. Today he went a little too far. Today he actually purged himself of his macaroni and cheese. He was in his crib and I heard it amplified on the baby monitor. He managed to get it all over himself and surprise, the carpet. I got him all washed up and set his new clothes next to him just as he began peeing all over himself and my bathroom mirror. Now, I am an experienced mom, but the last few days have me feeling at best like a fumbling rookie.

Have I also mentioned that Drew added "shit" to his vocabulary? I wonder where he got that.

I got this neat little copyright symbol from this neat gal who got it from this girl who got it from her brother. Thanks to all.

Da Doo Ron Ron Ron

2006-05-08T09:30:00.000-04:00

Driving around Sunday morning, a song I hadn't heard in ages came on the radio and instantly transported me back in time to my Holly Hobbie bedroom with the green gingham bedspread and matching curtains where I was waiting for Shaun Cassidy to discover the hidden talent (which was me) singing Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron. Yeah, my heart stood still. Yeah, her name was Jill.......

Caffe Verona

2006-05-04T08:33:00.000-04:00

I recently ordered some books online from Barnes & Noble. They came packaged with a bag of Caffe Verona from Starbucks. This is how the package read:

Caffe Verona

"Coffee of Romance"

A seductive blend with a touch of Italian Roast lending depth, soul & sweetness

Maybe I'm not wordly enough, but I can't gather how that coffee might taste from that exotic description. What is a seductive blend? And do I really want my coffee to fill that demand for me? This description might be more suitable on a bottle of Scotch.

The Greeting Card Cartel

2006-05-02T10:28:00.000-04:00

The greeting card industry is a 7 billion dollar industry with three companies commanding a whopping 85% of the market; Hallmark, American Greetings and Gibson Greetings. And we, the American public have bought into this notion hook, line and sinker.

What does a greeting card actually say to the receiver? It says, "Hey, I'm too cheap to spend any amount of money on you and I can't think up anything endearing to say on my own, so I'll let a stranger handle my sentiments for me."

I'll admit, once in a while a person finds the appropriate message on a friendship card or encouragement card that can describe the giver's feelings better than they could otherwise, but what about birthdays? Wouldn't you rather have them spend an extra $3 on your gift and scrap the card? And isn't just a plain old "Happy Birthday" enough? How often do we actually keep these cards and if we do, how often do we haul them out and enjoy them all over again? Might just as well throw four bucks in the can.

Then there are the obnoxiously large cards. The one's the size of poster boards. "I still couldn't afford a present, but I just paid $8.99 for a piece of flimsy cardboard, but look the word love is eighteen inches tall!" What about the odd shaped cards or the postcard sized cards that require extra postage? They're smaller and they require extra postage?!!! Someone explain this concept to me. Oh, the greeting card companies are in bed with the US Postal Service. It all makes sense now.

Really, I have nothing against giving or receiving cards for special occasions or just because, but don't get pissed at me if I choose not to send one for MAY DAY!!!!!

Friday Night at The Bib

2006-04-30T10:00:00.000-04:00

Bibs is a rude restaurant. It's not for people who are easily offended. From the minute you walk in the door, you are harrassed, called names and are subject to be food target of the raucously charged staff.

Upon entering, a large plastic bib is placed around your neck to protect your clothes and to identify your new dinner name. My name for the evening was Belle Lee Dancer. Some other examples were Francine U. Naked, Luna Tick, and for the bachelorette, Joy Ride. There was a total of 11 girls altogether and we had a great time "giving it back" to our waiters, Dick Teaser and Door Key.

A person at a neighboring table got particularly rowdy and ended up being taped into their seat for the night. I tried to tone it down after I saw that. I don't like to be confined.

The food came late but the drinks did not. I don't need to elaborate on the effects of booze in an empty stomach right? I'll leave some things to my readers' imaginations. But here are some pictures so you can get a feel for the atmosphere and the fun.

Our group. Notice the lobster claw salt shaker in the middle of the table? That was in my purse the next morning.

The bachelorette, with her drink. See what I mean? The fish bowl was also in my purse the next morning. Yeah, it's more of a bag than a purse. Check out the girl at the very back. I don't know who this is even though she was with us. She DID NOT have a good time.

Me and Rosa after the fish bowl drinks. She has the best laugh EVER.

After further review of the contents of my memory stick, It would be to my benefit if I stopped posting pictures now. We continued the party with a trip to the roller rink, and then back to the bachelorette's home. Good thing I live right next door.

Spoken Between True Friends

2006-04-28T10:00:00.000-04:00

The girls on my street are going out for dinner and drinks tonight, while the guys stay home and cook moose steaks and drink beer. Most of our gatherings are couples events, but once in a while we go our separate ways and let loose a little bit. I've been looking forward to tonight - a chance to leave work and cleaning and kids and just relax in the company of good girlfriends.

Good girlfriends. Tonight's outing got me thinking about the different types of friends I have in my life. I have you all, my blogging buddies who know more about me than most of my neighbors because I've let you into my sick little mind. I have childhood friends that keep in touch only out of respect for the amount of years we put in when we were growing up. Had we met later in life, I doubt we'd be close. I have my real life friends that I laugh with and drink with and share fun and work alike. But nothing compares to the bond between true friends. A true friend to me is someone you feel completely comfortable around, someone you can tell anything to without fear of being judged and a true friend is someone who will tell you what you need to hear.

I have three such friends.

Clew, my long distance best friend is my compass and support. I don't remember not knowing her. We've seen each other through heartache and happiness, silliness and fights. I run to the computer to tell her about people who've pissed me off, stupid things I've done and when I need advice on how to keep myself out of the nut house. Even though she is geographically distant, she is never far from my heart.

Then there is Molly. She is my neighbor and my best, real life accessible friend. I can call her day or night and she's always there for me. She is my drinking buddy and my confidante. We've shared moments of laughter when neither could stand up, held each other's hair to puke, held a nervous hand at the hospital, and have racked up countless hours of conversation.

Sherries friendship goes beyond the realm of friends. She knows EVERYTHING about me and I her. No matter what happens in each of our lives, even when we don't talk for months, we will always be there for each other, our bond is deeper than blood.

Each of these friends hold a special place in my life and I couldn't live happily without either of them. The following are conversational tidbits between us that let's me know for certain, we are true friends.

CONVERSATIONS WITH CLEW:

Clew: Man I gotta fart!
Me: letting one rip
Both: hysterical laughter

**********************

Me: What do you think of these colors together?
Clew: cocks head back slightly and raises an eyebrow You might want to rethink them?
Me: Yeah?
Clew: looking side to side Unless you want to look my grandmother's afghan.

CONVERSATIONS WITH MOLLY:

Me: I hope I don't pass out
Molly: If you pass out, I'm having them pierce your nipples too!

**********************

Molly: Hello parking lot pavers! flirting with a couple guys as she's getting into the car
Me: Get in the car you whore.

**********************

At a clothing store trying on this cute little brown pair of cotton gouchos.
Me: Ready, I'm coming out.
Molly: laughter ~ the kind that you try to stifle and it ends up rushing between your teeth causing spit to be sprayed everywhere.
Me: shutting the door ~ Thanks.
Molly: still laughing
Me: Ok, you can stop already. I'm taking them off.
Molly: laughing ~ I can't help it. You look like a clown.

And this is how I know they are my true friends. Not just the kind that say, "you can call me anytime". The ones that have proved their loyalty and their love to me over and over again. Who could ask for better friends?

The Bumblebee

2006-04-27T09:33:00.000-04:00

Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know this so he goes on flying anyway. ~Mary Kay Ash

Like every child, I began my life as the bumblebee. Never questioning my limits. Never giving impossiblity a second thought, certain that I could achieve all my wild dreams.

As child turned teenager, social acceptance taught me to doubt the very foundation of ideas that made me unique. She taught me that I had to make others happy even if it meant not being true to myself. She showed me that my fragile wings shouldn't be able to carry my awkward body.

Years of believing these notions faded to reluctant acceptance that I sold myself short. I killed the bumblebee without ever knowing the beauty of that blissful ignorance; before I could cement that concept into my personality; before I was able to arrive at my full potential.

Co Co Muk

2006-04-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

I was worried that my baby would never talk. His first words were "all gone" spoken in perfect English and "det dow" for get down. Those are the only two phrases he said for seven months. At 18 months he has yet to look at me and say "mama", but he'll pull on the handle of the refrigerator and yell "co co muk" when he want's his chocolate milk.

I reinforce by asking, "Do you want your cocoa milk?" which sends the dog into a hysterical frenzy. He comes from anywhere he is in the house with a high pitched wine, runs past the refrigerator, (Drew yells "DET DOW!") stops by the back door and shakes uncontrollably for like ten minutes. Meanwhile the hair is leaping out of his body and piling up on the floor in black drifts.

I had to shave him. Not bald or anything, but his fur is now only 1/4" long. He's sporting stripes up his back from the clippers. The other dogs in the neighborhood are pointing and laughing all because Drew needs his co co muk.

Cue Big Top Music

2006-04-24T23:36:00.000-04:00

Bump-ba-da-da-da-da-dump-de-da-da-bump

Yeah.

This is the kind of circus-ry that goes on in our household. I was playing this game with the little one...

You know, when you balance them on your feet and they pretend they are an airplane. He was having fun until the 14 year old thought she should get a turn.

Check him out in the back ground waiting for another go at it. Once she was up, it tickled her tummy and she started wriggling around until she collapsed on me busting my nose. It's not really broke, but it sure hurt like it was. I hate that feeling ~ the eyes water, the nose runs and you're certain it's blood and then you have a dull headache the rest of the night.

Damn kids.

Big Dudee Roo and the Raptors

2006-04-23T19:01:00.000-04:00

Friday night was my oldest son's big debut with his band Big Dudee Roo and the Raptors. Steve is a self-taught guitar player and while I knew he was a good player, I had no idea their band would be so good. Or that they'd all be that comfortable up on stage. They performed two songs at the talent show, "Throw Your Hatred Down" by Neil Young, and "My Generation" by The Who. Their next gig is at Summerfest where they will play in the afternoon. They didn't make the night slot, but for an up and coming band, I think that's pretty good.

This is Steve playing his solo. My daughter took it and it's blurry, but it's the only one I've got.

And me and Emily ~ the proud groupies.

Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from Mars

2006-04-17T20:21:00.000-04:00

I was confronted with a rather awkward incident this afternoon.

Let me set the scene.

In an impulsive decision to descend on my house in a freakish cleaning frenzy, I tossed a load of whites into the washer before tackling my acres of hardwood flooring. Because I was wearing some white capris that I wanted washed, I pealed those off and threw them in with the mix. I proceeded to vacuum the floor in my underwear and blue, Redondo Beach hooded sweatshirt.

The 18 month old who was toddling around with his plastic zoo animals kept handing me shoes. For some reason, he's engrossed with me having my flip flops on. To keep him happy and out from under the vacuum head, I took his offering and slid my right foot into a black flip flop. Shortly after that, he carried a bright pink plastic garden clog to me, which I distractedly placed on my left foot. He stood drinking his apple juice and watching me suck up dog hair, satisfied that my outfit was complete.

I didn't hear the knock at the front door.

My neighborhood is of the variety that people borrow stuff and when they return it, they don't hesitate to knock on your door and if you don't answer, just open it to put whatever they are returning on the inside. One might even venture all the way to the kitchen to place said item on the counter. Being that he heard the vacuum and not thinking that I might not be properly dressed, one of my neighbors steps into my entryway and encounters me in this costume. Stunned would best describe the emotion that entered his face.

At this point, explanations might only complicate the situation further so I turned off the vacuum and shimmied my sweatshirt down as far as it would go before I croaked out a pathetic, "Hi". My emotion wasn't quite embarrassment, but rather resigned disappointment at realizing the only shred of cool I may have had, is forever gone.

I'm back Y'ALL

2006-04-10T21:27:00.000-04:00

You know the old running joke about being forced to watch slides of someone else's family vacation, right? Well, contrary to my username, I am naive enough to think that you've all been dying to hear the details of my trip to Myrtle Beach and see the evidence in pictures. Right? Yes? No? Well, if you aren't interested, just scroll to the bottom and comment anyway.

This is me on the way down before the kids started picking fights with each other, before the air conditioning broke and before the dog in the room above us where we stopped for rest barked all night long! You don't want to see the picture of me when we rolled into Myrtle Beach after an additional 12 hours on the road!

Once we were there and had a good night's rest, we were ready to hit the beach. The weather was extraordinary even though the water was freezing, but you can't go all the way to the ocean and not go in at least once. So we learned to boogie board and skim board until Molly got stung by a jelly fish and that was all the ocean I needed.

Since the waves were too rough for the little guy and the jellies were abundant, we decided to bring the ocean to Drew. He loved having his own personal oasis to play in.

No vacation would be complete without a trip to the emergency room. This was a mild emergency but I was unsure of what to do and erred on the side of caution. Just before a dinner show on Thursday night, Drew swallowed something. We have no idea what. About five minutes later, he started squeaking. Just like a dog toy. We weren't even sure it was coming from him at first, but every time we pushed on his tummy....the squeaking sound. Maybe whatever he swallowed was partially lodged in there allowing some air to pass through making the whistling sound. But what if it moved and blocked all air flow? So we headed to Seacoast Emergency, where he was evaluated immediately and then told to wait for an x-ray. Two hours later when we still hadn't been seen, and Drew had fallen asleep and quit squeaking, the hospital had a major trauma come in and we left. I checked with the triage nurse first and she agreed with my assessment, gave me a number to call if we had trouble in the night and sent us off.

Besides lazing on the beach, we saw lots of dinner shows and attractions. The Grand Cirque, which is a spin off of Cirque Du Soleil, Dixie Stampede and The Medieval Times Dinner Show, which were all awesome. We went to the Ripley's Aquarium which was also cool, but not worth the cost, in my opinion.

While dinner at The House of Blues was very tasty and the ambiance was extremely cool, I could've done without the dive-bombing BAT! At the very least, they could have comped our meals for having to dine with such a rabid creature darting and weaving throughout the place. I saw the thing before anyone else did and let out a small scream when it darted from the restroom alcove right at my head. That's when the waiter asked me to be quiet so I wouldn't cause a panic. Yeah, right! You can brink my check now. It wasn't long before the entire restaurant was covering their heads with their linen napkins and giggling, pointing and shrieking. We had much better luck at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville restaurant. That place was so festive and of course I ordered a "cheeseburger in paradise" and a "frozen concoction to help me hang on".

With all this excitement I bet your wondering how I can successfully pull off an equally climactic ending to this vacation. Right? Well the most interesting event of the week by far was the piercing. Yes friends, me and Molly mixed a big blender of Pina Coladas, snuck away from the families and got our belly buttons pierced.

Even though the sign out front promised a 100% pain free piercing, it was far from pain free. Not terrible, but I did feel a little queasy when it was over. I picked out a clear sparkly ring, but the tech accidentally put the blue one that Molly picked out in me, so I'm sporting a blue ring for the next five weeks and I got my original pick for free.

WARNING****PLIMCO*****WARNING****PLIMCO*****WARNING ~ the following is not a half naked cartoon me, it's the real thing, so if you need to excuse yourself for a few moments, please do so and return after you've composed yourself. After all this blog is rated G. Well, okay, not really, but censor yourself.

DURING

AFTER

Because I'm sure I am boring you with these vacation details and because I'm sick of uploading pictures, I'm ending this recap for now. Besides, I don't want to be home just yet and looking at the pictures only reminds me of how nice it was to not have to work.

So long ~ SMOOCH

2006-03-31T13:49:00.000-05:00

No time to blog, just wanted to say goodbye. We're leaving for Myrtle Beach in just a little bit.

Have a great week everyone!

Down on the Farm

2006-03-28T22:33:00.000-05:00

And the man at the back said everyone attack, and it turned into a ballroom blitz. This one line of this Krokus song has been in my head for about four days now. It's driving me quite mad! Now that that's out of the way, I can get to the details of the past few days.

I mentioned (complained) that I was going to be insanely busy last week and in fact, the busyness has trickled well into this week too. A few things that I didn't anticipate were thrown into the mix, but for the protection of the innocent, I can't blog about it. Too many people I know have been busted writing about people they know, then spend weeks trying to mend fences. But, it would make for really good blogging fodder if I could write about it.

To steal a phrase from Plimco, the siding job is coming along swimmingly. Well, not really, I've just been wanting to use swimmingly in a sentence. Smirk. Actually, the siding job is killing me. I failed to communicate that this job we are working on is an addition to an old farm house. I also failed to mention that this family has a working pig farm.

All day long, I hear, "uhRHEEE, RHEEE, ungthth" and squealing like someone is getting murdered. I suppose the pigs are cute enough, but they are nothing like the sort EB White speaks of. They are much bigger than I imagined, even being a girl from the country and having some knowledge as to the goings on of farms. These are the fellas that greet me every time I journey to the barn next to their pen to gather more siding material. (Our stuff has to be kept enclosed otherwise the birds will poop all over it - yes, there's that many.)

Too bad pictures can't portray a smell. See that mud that they're standing it. It's not mud. The brown one is the male of the bunch. Know how I know? He was on top of the pink ones all day long!

As if pigs weren't enough, they have two big lumus black labs, Buddy and Bosco that think it's a game when they steal a freshly cut piece of siding and go running around with it in their mouths, head held high, while I chase them threatening to feed them to the pigs. And cows....

Cows, I think, are the most curious of all creatures. Every time I look over at them, this is exactly what I see. They are all staring at me.

Today was a rainy day. Cold rain. I wasn't very happy about that. Not only did I have water dripping on me from the roof, but rain always makes a farm smell worse than it really is. And everything was muddy. When I used to build full time, it was great fun to ask a person who was jumping around holding his thumb and cussing a blue streak, "did you just hit your hand?". Not so fun anymore. Especially when you're the one with the busted thumb. What do you expect when you're on wobbly scaffolding up in the air trying to nail a one and half inch nail.

Here's a close up in case you don't believe it's me.

All right then, that's what I've been doing all week. Now I get to play catch up on everything else that went neglected, including blogging.

Schedule Change

2006-03-21T11:54:00.000-05:00

As I mentally lay out my plans for the rest of the week, I realize that there will not be enough minutes in a day for me to accomplish all that I need to, even if I work into the night hours. As Clew likes to say, "I'm going to be busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest."

I've got two mortgages that are in the phase that requirs the most work on my part, a couple from California that wants to see five houses, and about a million errands that need to be done this week. And that's after delegating and juggling certain tasks to a later, more convenient time and date.

Tomorrow, I dust off my hammer and tool belt to start a siding job, which means I have to cancel doctor appointments, tanning appointments and try to fit my excersize, real estate and mortgage appointments into my evenings. And sometime during all this, I have to find time to make six dozen cookies for Friday night's play that my kids are in. Not to mention, cut out of work early that day because I'm in charge of the concession stand.

So with this sudden explosion of work, I doubt I will be around Blogger much until this weekend. I'll be thinking of all of you while I bake, build and bullshit with my clients.

What are your chances of getting lucky today?

2006-03-17T11:12:00.000-05:00

According to research, not very good. Only one in ten thousand if you're searching for a four leaf clover.

In honor of St. Patricks Day, I decided to do some research on our little clover friend. I remember searching for them as a child and recall even finding a few. I can't say that I have been overly lucky through out my life though, and now I know why. Apparently, they don't hold any mystical lucky powers, the four-leaf clover is caused either by genetic or environmental factors.

According to legend, each leaf represents something. One leaf is for FAITH, the second for HOPE, the third for LOVE, and the fourth, naturally, for LUCK! In Irish tradition the Shamrock or three-leaf clover represents the Holy Trinity: one leaf for the Father, one for the Son and one for the Holy Spirit. When a Shamrock is found with the fourth leaf, it represents God's Grace.

So, friends, armed with these new found facts, let me save you the time you'd spend in the clover patch looking for a little quadrant of luck and just wish all of you good fortune and good cheer.

Breath Easy

2006-03-17T10:54:00.000-05:00

It's hard to tell from this picture, but the Nebulizer was not a welcome ritual in Drew's little world. He screamed the entire seven minutes the treatment took us and for a few minutes after just for good measure.

Even though his dad was the one that held him down, he didn't want anything to do with me.

But after only two days, he will hold the mask in place by himself. I think he knows it helps him feel better and he does act much more like himself now.

2006-03-15T11:01:00.000-05:00

I'm guest host over at Joy's blog today while she is unable to be an active participant. This is the second time I've had the honor blog-sitting in my brief blogging exeprience. It's liberating and stressfull all at the same time. I suppose if you don't post for a week or so, your blog goes stale and you lose traffic. So, what should I do while I'm gone for a week in April? Let things fizzle out until I return or turn the reins over to someone else. I'll think about that another day. For now, visit Joy Is Me, introduce yourself and enjoy some of the other guest posters.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-03-14T10:38:00.000-05:00

Fifteen months

Clew, I finally broke down and did stitching. OY!

Custom Order Apples

2006-03-13T21:03:00.000-05:00

Across the street from my pediatrician's office is a grocery store called Big Top Market. As if a trip to the supermarket wasn't already a circus, they had to throw in the monkey music and obnoxious red and white stripes.

I took the baby back to the doctor today because he just hasn't been acting like himself and I overheard this statement announced through the store's PA even over the traffic on the busy street.

"Sandy Knocker! Your apples are ready for pick up in produce."

What? Huh? Who special orders apples?

Incidentally, the kid needs breathing treatments three times a day. So now we have a nebulizer.

100 Things

2006-03-10T22:01:00.000-05:00

I was going to save this list for my 100th post (I'm almost there), but that's so unoriginal. Besides, I'm working on something else for my big milestone. So here it is, 100 things you were dying to know about me. (Some of this was written over a month ago and may be old news already.)

1. My name is Michelle. So much for anonymity.
2. I have to think about it for like 2 minutes before I can say anonymity correctly.
3. I want to be a writer.
4. I want my book to be fiction because someone said it was the hardest way to break into the market.
5. I want my book to be on Oprah's Book Club list, because someone told me I could never do it.
6. I used to have a lot more energy than I do now.
7. Losing several babies and dealing with infertility has sapped a lot of that energy.
8. Even though I have a beautiful baby, I can't quite get over the loss of Owen and several other pregnancies.
9. I know more than any person should about reproductive health and infertility issues.
10. If you're having trouble getting pregnant, save your money on a Reproductive Endocrinologist and email me. Seriously!
11. I don't smoke.
12. I don't take any street drugs.
13. I do like to drink. Vodka is my poison.
14. I'm not an alcoholic.
15. I love to scrap book and take pictures. I love telling the story of our lives in this way.
16. However, pictures also hold our feelings frozen in the not so good times.
17. Although I've been pissed at Him, I have a strong faith in God.
18. I suppose that should have been first on this list.
19. I still need to work on my faith.
20. I know how to build houses. My husband and I built 17 - just the two of us.
21. I had really nice arms when I was building.
22. And a really nice tan.
23. Now I have wrinkles and freckles.
24. I still don't look like I'm 37 though.
25. I can't believe I'm old enough to have a child graduating next year.
26. I started this blog because I was bored.
27. I didn't intend for it to be an online communication for my new blogger friends. Not that I'm complaining.
28. I wanted to have an outlet for my creative needs.
29. I don't feel satisfied with that outlet yet.
30. I hate cleaning my house, but I can't function if it isn't clean.
31. I'm learning to live with a mess sometimes.
32. I don't think I'll ever be totally cured. I just like things clean.
33. I'm too critical of people. I wasn't always like that.
34. Being a landlord has shown me a different side of humanity.
35. I'm a real estate agent and a mortgage broker. I hate both jobs.
36. I've been in charge of marketing for Blue Cross and Blue Shield. Not selling policies, but designing posters for other company's employees.
37. I hated that too. The politics involved over shadowed any creativity.
38. I had great benefits working there though.
39. Now, I don't even have prescription coverage.
40. I love to decorate.
41. I love gardening. Never in my life have I felt closer to God than when I was working in my garden.
42. I still haven't figured out why.
43. It's amazing that I can grow anything, because I inevitably kill all my indoor plants.
44. I wish I could travel more.
45. I love the way I feel when I'm on vacation.
46. I get migraine headaches. They suck.
47. Since I had the baby, I haven't had near as many as I used to.
48. I can't do a back handspring any more. I discovered this last summer when I broke the top of my foot trying. At a wedding. Yes, Vodka was involved.
49. I held the school record for highest score in diving. I was ranked 8th in the state at one time.
50. I hated diving.
51. I loved playing softball. I played 3rd base. Line drives hurt like crazy!
52. I put ketchup on my macaroni and cheese.
53. I've converted almost my whole family now.
54. I'm a grazer. I don't eat much at a sitting, but I nibble all day long.
55. Until recently, this has always worked for me.
56. I'd be happy losing another 10 pounds, but I have 20 to go to be at pre-pregnancy weight.
57. My nick name growing up was Mimi.
58. Clew has shortened that to Mims.
59. I love to watch movies.
60. I love to read.
61. I have 327 books in my modest little library.
62. I have yet to read them all.
63. I love winter, but I prefer summer.
64. Being barefoot is the best thing in the world.
65. Flip flops are second, especially after a pedicure.
66. I've been known to walk into door frames becasue I'm staring down at my newly polished toes.
67. I hate cleaning my vehicle.
68. I hate getting groceries.
69. I save at least 35% on my grocery bill every week because I shop for the deals and clip coupons.
70. I only started this coupon craze about 8 months ago.
71. I'm a great friend.
72. But I hate a clinger.
73. I love, love, love, love, love music.
74. Almost any kind, but not rap.
75. I'm a night person. I can stay up really late, but I hate getting up in the morning.
76. I am obsessed with wrinkles.
77. Since I was a little girl, if I feel one in the sheets or my jeans, I have to fiddle with it.
78. I also look for patterns in everything. This drives me crazy.
79. My hair is in a ponytail 85% of the time.
80. I do not look good with short hair, even though it is always pulled back from my face.
81. My favorite smell is the scent of clean sheets that have been hung out on the line.
82. These provide the best wrinkles.
83. Despite my sickness to be organized, it looks like a tornado went through my garage.
84. I adore my neighbors - well, most of them.
85. The summer is one big party on my street.
86. I don't have a television in my room.
87. I hate being taken advantage of. I don't know too many people that do.
88. It seems that it happens to me alot. Maybe I'm too nice.
89. Teenagers are tough. One minute I'm sad that they're so old, the next minute, I can't wait for them to move out. What's wrong with me?
90. I wonder if I'll ever feel this way about the baby.
91. Sometimes I feel like an inadequate mom.
92. I don't feel like an inadequate wife.
93. I sometimes think I'm not true to myself.
94. I'm glad this list is almost done.
95. I'll probably think of 20 more interesting things when I finish. That's what I do.
96. Things on this list will probably change in the next six months.
97. I don't mind change.
98. I'm used to it.
99. For the most part, I like myself.
100. For the most part, I like all of you! :)

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-03-07T16:14:00.000-05:00

First Year

(done this past weekend with Clew)

Weekend Review

2006-03-06T13:52:00.000-05:00

Well, my visit with Clew came to an end about 50 minutes ago. It's been 18 months since we've seen each other, so leaving today was a little difficult, but we had a ton of fun while she was here.

The weekend started out with an overnight scrapbook event. In all the excitement, we forgot to bring our snacks to share and a cup with a cover as was required by the host of the event, so we stopped at Target for a quick shopping trip. After purchasing more scrapbook supplies, knocking over an entire cup display, and laughing about fur gel for dogs, we were on our way to scrap. Because we were late, we got placed in a room down the hall from everyone else with three other scrappers, but we made the best of it.

Drawing by Clew.

We made quite the mess!

Saturday late afternoon, we went back to my house for....

Chinese food....

Beer......

and wine.

We watched a few movies, played some games....this is what I think of her big win...

I know she has to get back to her family and her responsibilities, but it was so nice to see her again and just relax and hang out.

I miss you already sis.

School Trip Update

2006-03-03T09:25:00.000-05:00

After talking to the prinicpal and the truancy officer yesterday, Emily will be able to go on her class trip after all, even if she misses more school. I don't know how they are going to handle the director, but at this point, I don't care. I don't want her to treat Emily any different on the trip either, so as long as I got my way, I'm good.

T-minus 5 hours and counting until Clew arrives. In classic Bainwen style, "SQUEEEEE"!

Thursday Thoughts

2006-03-02T10:47:00.000-05:00

Since my babysitting duties at Coffee Break were cancelled due to an ice storm (a phone call letting me know this would have been appreciated) and it's not time for me to go to therapy yet, I'd thought I'd attempt a post.

I've got nothing to write about - or rather nothing that I feel like organizing any thought for, so I decided that this would be a hodge podge rambling of sorts. Little snippets of what's going on in my life at the moment, but nothing that would justify a full blog write up.

Sit back and be prepared to be bowled over with boredom!

The biggest and least boring news I have is that Clew is gonna be here tomorrow. She'll already be on the road at this time tomorrow, but I'll be waiting impatiently for her arrival. We're going to a hotel Friday afternoon and plan on pulling a cropping all-nighter. Saturday continues with more scrapbooking and then we head back to my house for Chinese food, a nap, and more hanging out. Ditto for Sunday and then she'll be heading home on Monday. :( Sorry, I can't show you any pictures of us together. (Shhhh, she's paranoid about internet safety. Don't tell her I said so.) But for all of you wondering, she looks like Angelina Jolie. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. She's really smart too. I'm not sure why I hang out with her.

I've got a call into the principal of my daughter's school. The more I think about the conversation with the trip director, the pissder I get. I know pissder isn't a word, but it should be. I don't know how far the conversation will get me, but I'll feel better about myself knowing that I made the call.

My neck is feeling better. Just in time to wreck it again staring down at a scrapbook for 12 hours. I have a different physical therapist on Tuesdays. April. She's even better than Chad. I love her. She worked on me for an extra half hour because my muscles were so tight. Of course this was after I offered her my left over fertility drugs and needles which total about $1400.

I started a new project last weekend. I picked up some of that chalk board paint and painted a square on one of our empty bar walls. I plan on using it to list all the different brews we have available. I still want to build a frame to put around it, but for now, the black square on the wall will have to do. Note to self: pick up chalk after therapy.

Every single time I go out, I see at least one grey or white Impala in front of me. On back roads, on the freeway, I'll even pull up behind one in a parking lot. There's no mistaking those round tail lights. I never noticed them before, why now? Weird.

Since I'm boring myself to tears, I'm sure you've all stopped reading, so I guess I'll go to therapy.

Seething with Frustration and Mama Bear Anger

2006-02-28T13:54:00.000-05:00

My daughter has been sick a lot this year. Anyone reading through my blog can attest to the mishaps and illnesses that we've endured this school year. As a result, she's missed 14 days of school. Even so, she maintains a 3.8 - 4.0 grade point average.

I think if a person is out for two or three days because of one illness and they have a doctor's slip to prove so, it should count as one absence, not two or three. This is not the way it works in our middle school, hence the number of absences for my middle child.

Emily loves school. She loves everything about it. The learning, the social aspect, the sports - everything. Conferences were last week and every one of her teachers said she was the top in her class or among the top. In math, Emily was the only student that passed a particularly difficult algebra test. Not only did she pass, she passed with an A- and was the only one that wasn't required to retake it. She's on student council, she's a Student Assistant and she is on the cheerleading squad. I'm not saying all this to brag, although it does feel kinda good. I'm giving you an idea of what kind of person my daughter is.

I've talked to the school principal about her absences and they've assured me that because I've called every time and have provided doctor's excuses when necessary that there wasn't any truancy issues.

I just got off the phone with the director for the class trip this year. She informs me that Emily has missed too much school to go on the trip - by two days. Now I know there are rules and I agree with them, but I also believe one needs to look at the whole picture in making any decision. You're telling me that as long as a student is scraping by with D's, but only has 5 absences, they are more deserving at this opportunity. I think that Emily should go because she's proved that she can stay on top of things with missed school. What better candidate to leave for an entire week of school?

Rules aside, what I'm really pissed about is the condescending tone the director took with me.

DIR: I see that Emily has had a problem with attendance. Would it be better for me to talk to her and let her know the importance of being in school.

ME: No, she likes school. She wants to be there, she's just been sick this year. I've got the doctor's slips. I feel like I need to remind you of the schools rule about being sick - if you're child has a fever, they are not allowed in school.

DIR: Well, we can bend the rules this time, but I need you to assure me that Emily will do all she can to make an effort to be here.

ME: Again, she does make an effort to be there, but if she's throwing up, I can't send her.

DIR: I still need to have a commitment from Emily, because if she can't commit to being here, we will give her spot to someone on the waiting list.

(If they don't fill her spot though, we are out they money we've put toward the trip)

ME: I know Emily will make every effort to be in school, but I can't guarantee that she isn't going to get bronchitis between now and May.

DIR: Maybe that child needs to take Vitamin C or Echinacea then.

EXCUSE ME???!!!! WHAT???

I ended the conversation before I completely ruined Emily's chances of going, but wish I would have said a lot more. I think it's shitty. I don't think it's fair and I'm not going to just accept it.

Furthermore, why am I only be told this now. Why wasn't I made aware of the absence situation when we were at 10 absences instead of 14. Conveniently timed after my 2nd non-refundable trip payment.

It remains to be seen whether or not she'll be able to go on the trip, but you can bet your brass monkey that I won't be paying for it if she doesn't go.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-02-28T12:10:00.000-05:00

From New York to Toronto

These are pics from my daughter's school trip. She's the one in the lower left corner making the "Stuck-on-myself rock start" look.

Bailey the Kid

2006-02-27T09:33:00.000-05:00

During the cold winter evenings after Drew is in bed, my furry companion sidles up next to me as I settle in to watch a movie in front of a roaring fire. He won't settle down until I get him sufficiently covered and snuggled. This is his time and he knows it.

Blogging Blunder

2006-02-24T10:44:00.000-05:00

Recently, in our local news there were reports of some teenager's getting into trouble because of the content on their blogs.

Apparently these teenagers had gone to a party, took all kinds of digital pictures and then posted them. The athletic director of their school saw the photos and the beer bottles that the kids were holding in a "cheers" salute and several more in the background and punished said kids with expulsion from all sports.

It's imperative that you know what kind of community and school district we are talking about before I finish the story. This school is a Class A district and always takes the state championship in football. It's a very rich, snobby area where even average houses are priced sinfully above market and in every driveway is parked a Lexus, but for no longer than two hours at a time so as not to violate the ordinance. This is the school in which the kids who wrote "American Pie" metriculated from. This gives an idea of the type of family I am talking about.

I believe there is a zero tolerance policy in all schools now days that if you are caught abusing alcohol, you don't play sports. Simple as that. Well, these highfalutin parents hired lawyers and are arguing that "we don't know for sure that there was beer in those bottles".

Yeah. Right! The kids dumped out the beer and re-filled the bottles with soda just to give the illusion that they were drinking. They were so drinking.

So what are these parent's teaching their kids? One, that is okay to break the rules if you don't get caught; and two, if you do get caught, lie about it.

Chad the PT (aka Hands McGee)

2006-02-23T16:40:00.000-05:00

I think I'm in love with my new physical therapist, Chad.

I finally broke down and saw the doctor about my neck and after an x-ray of my spine, he prescribed physical therapy for as long as necessary. Did you know that in order to get a picture of the top of your spine, the x-ray needs to be taken through your open mouth? That was not a pretty pose.

So, therapy started today and Chad stretched and pulled and massaged my neck and then he placed his hands on the back of my head and applied continuous pressure to a certain area and made my headache disappear. Then, right before I left, I got another massage. I had to resist hugging the guy before I left.

Oh yeah, he's cute too!

To Gay Monroe

2006-02-23T11:12:00.000-05:00

~the only person I ever teased deliberately.

I still see the look on your face sitting on the bus that day - it was humiliation - I wish I could live that day over.

I still hear my voice asking if your hair was supposed to be french braided or if it was just matted - I wish I could take it back.

I still hear the echoes of laughter as the other kids enjoyed your embarrassment - I wish they had been laughing at me.

I still remember the sick feeling I had the rest of that day - I still feel it whenever I think of you.

I'm sorry.

Address Book

2006-02-22T10:28:00.000-05:00

I keep my address book in a "junk" drawer in the kitchen. I purchased this address book, when my son who is 17 was just a baby. Over the years, many new additions have been added as well as multiple changes to phone numbers and addresses. More recently, phone numbers get scribbled on tears of paper or napkins or scrawled on the back of a business card or take-out menu and eventually make their way back home and get tucked inside this address book. Or simply thrown in the drawer with the intention of the address book being their final resting place.

Each time I have to look for a phone number, I have to painstakingly sift through each piece of paper, large and small and half the time, never find what I'm looking for. With my need for organization in every area of my life, this is driving me insane. I finally linked more pain to not having it organized that I did to physically correcting the situation. (Yes, I consider it a situation.)

I bought a new address book with crisp, clean pages and even a line for email addresses which was not available in my current book. I went through every napkin, envelope, menu, business card and sticky note, recording the numbers and addresses in their corresponding section. It's been done for 3 days now and I haven't had to look up a single phone number.

One wouldn't think this domestic task could cause one to ponder the delicacies of life, but it has. As many additions were made to my list, there were almost as many deletions. A few deaths, but mostly friends and acquaintances who've drifted out of my life due to geographical location or a parting of ways. I reflected on those people who were at one time a part of my life and wondered about the short time they graced it. Were they placed in my path for my benefit, or I for theirs? And have we really changed that much that we have nothing in common anymore; that there is no reason to contact one another?

Then I started thinking about the chain of events that led to each new encounter and the unlikely consequences leading to a break down in friendships. I'm left to wonder, which friends will stay and which will be deleted from my new address book in another 17 years. Right now I can't imagine it any other way, but experience shows me that everything changes. The only physical evidence of past friendships is the ink in which their name resides in my address book.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-02-21T12:25:00.000-05:00

If nothing else, this will get "Grievances" off the front line of my blog. I hope any first time visitors will give me another chance.

NYC

It's hard to see, but in the lower left hand corner of the 2nd page, there is a picture of a homeless man holding a sign that says, "Need money for booze, drugs and hookers. Hey, at least I'm not bullshitten' you" My son (the one in the middle of the page, next to the girl in the green shirt) went to NYC with the school orchestra and contributed a few quarters to this guys cup in exchange for a photo. After taking the shot, the guy tells him, "Welcome to NYC kid".

Grievances

2006-02-17T10:41:00.000-05:00

Part of this post was written a week ago when I was feeling particularly snarky and I had since decided against publishing it. After discussing it with a friend, they sanctioned for its publication citing that this was a fleeting glimpse of who I was at that particular time. I've cleaned up the language a bit (not that you'd notice), but it may still be offensive. You the reader, have the benefit of choosing not to continue, my friend did not have that luxury. So here's a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.

Abysmal Ignorance

People are so fucking stupid. We sold a house last week to a couple who through the course of their lives have ruined their credit. Trying to get back on track and out of the shoe box that they've been living in for the past 5 years, they made an offer on a house that we own. A nice house. 1800 square foot, four bedroom Victorian with two baths and a fenced yard, priced below appraised value.

I also have the advantage of supplying them with financing for the purchase. This couple, while making great strides, has not been able to save money for a down payment. Consequently, we offer to pay for their down payment and in return they make payments to us at 8% interest over the next five years. It does us no good to keep sitting on this house either. After much explanation, every one thinks it's a fine idea.

That is until this couple decided to talk to an appraiser who attends their Bible study. Of course, they don't quite get all the details themselves, and ultimately give the appraiser a load of misinformation. The appraiser tells them that what we are doing is illegal and it would be best for them to get out of the deal if they can.

Now, this is only illegal if you raise the price of the home first and if you don't tell the first mortgage holder about the second loan for the down payment. We did not violate either condition which I tried to explain to them. But the damage was done and now the appraiser is helping them look for a new house. They didn't even have the courtesy to tell me that they were backing away. They simply stopped all communication. Assholes!

Volunteering in the Name of Christ?

How can this be a grievance you're wondering? Well it is! My mother-in-law hosts Coffee Break at our church every Thursday morning for both members of the church and the community. She's been asking for some time if I would run the nursery for this group. I've continually said no, I don't have time, but finally about 6 weeks ago, I relented. (Hmmm, any correlation with the neck injury?)

The deal was that I was supposed to take care of two kids, a 3 year old and a 2 year old and I could bring Drew to play if I wanted. It was only for an hour every Thursday and I would get $20.

This week, I had a 4 1/2 year old, a 3 year old, two 2 year olds, a 6 month old and a 3 month old. Both of the babies shit, one required a full clothing change and the 2 year old screamed the entire time. I got scratched on the chest by the 3 month old with razor fingernails and spilled ice water on by one of the 2 year olds. An hour continually stretches to an hour and a half AND I found out I get paid $20 a month, not $20 a week.

It seems that since words out there's a babysitter in nursery again, the women are coming out of the wood work with these kids. It makes me wonder, since they weren't coming before, if they are interested in learning the Bible or if they just want a break from these little monsters for a couple hours out of the morning.

When my MIL gets back from Mexico, I'm telling her to look for someone else!

Restocking Racket

I used to be a Creative Memories consultant before I had Drew. I quit before he was born thinking that I wouldn't have time for the business, but didn't want to get rid of my product because I thought I might start up again in the near future.

When I did re-list as a consultant I found that I had understandably, lost most of my customer base to other consultants. After a few months, I realized that I didn't feel like working to build my business back up, so I quit for good.

Creative Memories has a "buy back" program where they take back all unopened merchandise from consultants minus a 10% restocking charge. Most consultants, if they want to have a successful run, have to keep a large stock of supplies on hand, and I was no exception. I've got five pages of merchandise to return totaling $1500 in retail.

The call from CM comes yesterday. "We're sorry, we only take back products that were purchased in the last year." Well whoop-ti-fucking-do. That's only about half my stuff. I can see not taking back product that discontinued or that was labeled a limited edition, but stuff that has not been changed or deleted from the product line or had packaging upgrades, why can't they take those back? It's stupid. So if anyone needs anything Creative Memories, I've got some stuff for sale. CHEAP!

Damn Leap Frog Anyway

We have this Dreamscapes Soother for the baby that attaches safely to the crib and with the push of one button by said baby, provides soothing music and a relaxing scene to coax him back to sleep. This thing works beautifully and Drew loves it! However, it sucks batteries life in vampire style. I'm not complaining for the cost. We've gone the rechargeable route now, so it's only a matter of changing the batteries.

You'd think if the company were going to make a toy that went through batteries so quickly, they'd make the battery compartment easily accessible. Oh no! Every time we have to rejuice, I have to get the whole tool box out and unscrew two different panels and pry them off to replace the batteries. Usually, I don't realize it's out of batteries until the middle of the night when I hear this distorted music in the monitor and then cries when he can't get it to play. By the time I get it working again, we're both wide awake.

There was more, but I'm stopping. It was a rough week. I feel better now!

Product Raves and Reviews

2006-02-14T23:13:00.000-05:00

Have any of ya all heard of these home spa shows? A consultant comes into a person's home and each guest has the privilege of receiving a foot bath, a facial, a lip treatment, and a scalp massage. I went to one last summer complete with poolside candles and margaritas. I didn't want to go, but I enjoyed it immensely.

Fast forward to beginning of January this year. As I awoke one morning, I kind of lifted myself up off my pillow to turn onto my left side, when I felt this sharp stabbing pain in the left side of my lower neck. For days afterwards, I was not able to lift my left arm away from my body. It's never completely healed. Every day feels like the last day of "An I Slept Wrong" bender. About once a week, I re-injure it with a sneeze or a wrong turn to the point of paralysis. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit.

Finally, after six weeks of tolerating the pain, I remember about this spa show and that we got to try out these wonderfully warm and relaxing neck wraps. I call the consultant girl and tell her I need one of these magic wraps pronto. Then I find out that they aren't for sale, they can only be obtained by hosting a freakin spa show.

I call a friend to complain ~ because that's what girls do and to my surprise, she says she has one that I can HAVE!!!! I offer to pay for it, but she says no. Instead I take her some Creative Memories supplies she's been wanting and run home with my new neck wrap. After two minutes in the microwave this little dandy delivers non-stop heat right to the affected area. It's so much nicer than those sticky, stinky, icy hot patches from the store and easier than trying to fold a heating pad and keeping it in place. I can walk around and do my work while trying to coax my neck into being the easy-to-turn thing that it used to be.

If anyone has neck problems or just needs to de-stress I highly recommend one of these wraps. I think the company might be called Beauty Control. That's what it says on the wrap, but that's not the name I remember from the party.

Get one today - any way you can.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-02-14T14:37:00.000-05:00

Three months

Mod Podge

2006-02-13T17:43:00.000-05:00

I've been wanting to take on this new project for a while now - well ever since my hand surgery - and I decided this weekend was the perfect time. The letters are made of pressed wood and you decorate them with scrapbook paper and embellishments. The secret is in the Mod Podge glue. Most people do their kids' names in coordinating colors for their rooms; but I thought that would be too predicatable, so I made something for my bar.

I took all this stuff....

And turned it into this. It was so much fun!

Sisters ~ Til Death Us Do Part

2006-02-10T10:34:00.000-05:00

The following excerpt is a journal entry from a very close friend. She emailed it to me this morning reminding me of what we've had to overcome. She was, at one time, my sister-in-law; but through a series of sequential events, we weren't able to speak for several years.

Now, both in our 30's, we've been in contact again for about 10 years and still refer euphemistically to each other as sisters (not ex-sisters-in-law) although we have no "legal" relation. But what does sisterhood consist of? It's not necessarily the blood that courses through our veins, but rather the love and experiences that knit us together forever.

In reading this entry from her journal, I feel as if I'm watching that part of my life like a movie. Because we lived it, we simply accepted it. Viewing the experience this way now, I see the tragedy in it that neither of us could have foreseen. Just like a movie that you see it in it's entirety though, this account also has a happy ending.

And now you'll also know that my name is Michelle.

One person that has influenced me more than anyone is my best friend Michelle. But truly she is more than my best friend; she is my sister, guider, and mentor.

I met Michelle at the age of 12. She began dating my oldest brother and although we were 7 years apart we hit it off immediately. We liked so many of the same things; reading, poetry, writing, clothes, current hair styles, movies, and boys. At times I was almost jealous of my older brother because he was able to spend more time with her than me; nonetheless, our relationship grew and in two years I was delighted when she married my brother, officially becoming my sister, and gave birth to my first nephew Steven.

Our relationship grew tremendously within the next year; after all we were sisters at that point. During the summer I would stay weeks with her while my brother worked third shift jobs and sometimes even worked overtime. We watched Steven together, would go grocery shopping together, draw together, and became fascinated with 50's pop music together. She even showed me how to drive her car although I was only 14. I loved and adored her, more than anything I wanted to be like her when I grew up, strong, determined, and willing to try out new things.

Looking back I realize that Michelle saved my life during those years. My relationship with my overly verbally abusive family became strained and although I was only 14 I often contemplated suicide. I felt so misunderstood and different but because of Michelle I had someone to turn to, someone that liked and loved me and someone that I could like and love in return.

As the years went on Michelle and I stayed close although once she had my niece Emily and I began high school we weren't able to spend as much time together with each other as we would have liked. But we were still sisters and I loved having her as my sister. However, after I graduated from high school in 1994 we were able to see one another much more and I noticed a change in her. The years of being with my abusive asshole brother had caused her to grow weary and she asked him for a separation. Although I completely understand and whole-heartedly supported her decision, I felt sad as well. She was my sister and I wanted her to always be my sister. I didn't want her to leave.

The following year they divorced and she began her new life. After she left things changed in a way that I never predicted. My family hated and blamed her for everything. They concluded that she had an affair and that my brother, of course, could not be at fault for anything. But to me she was still my sister; I loved her; I had loved her for practically as long as I could remember and I did not want to divorce her. I was crushed when my family forbade me to see her and threatened to disown me if I did. But I loved my sister, how could I not see her? I was almost jealous of her, if only I could divorce my family and start new just as she did. The years have passed and although my parents still blame her for everything I do attempt to remain in contact with her. As I have grown and been separated from her I have realized the powerful impact she has had on my life. If she had never entered my life who knows what may have happened to me? Instead, today I am a strong (or at least I like to believe so) woman that has gone on to become a teacher, traveler, dreamer, and doer. I am truly a reflection of her, my sister. Her influence upon me has caused me to realize that blood relation does not necessarily define one's family, it is love that does.

Suicide

2006-02-08T23:17:00.000-05:00

Augustine argued that suicide was a violation of the sixth commandment, "You shall not murder" (Exodus 20:13). Later, Thomas Aquinas, being catholic and believing that confession of sin must be made prior to departure from this world to the next, taught that suicide was the most fatal of all sins because the victim could not repent of it. The problem with his view is that it represents a misunderstanding of eternal security. One in which Scripture clearly teaches. We are saved by the grace of God, not by works (Ephesians 2:8-9) and nothing can separate a Christian from the love of God (Romans 8:37-39).

After Myth Busters last night, I caught the beginning of a show called Stunt Junkies. The guys performing these stunts are clearly out of their minds, jumping over semi trailers on their quads while completing back sommersaults with these four-wheelers. Come on! It got me thinking that if they were to crash resulting in their death, would it be just like suicide? Even if they really didn't want to die, they are clearly tempting the fates. Knowing that their heedless abandon could very well lead to their end, yet continuing their recklessness.

We could take this thought even farther and suggest that people who smoke or drink or take drugs are really partaking in a long-term suicide. But that just sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? Or does it?

Opening the polls for opinions. The mind thinks of weird shit when it's awake in the middle of the night.

The Heart Goes Pitter Patter

2006-02-08T12:42:00.000-05:00

Or thud, thud, thud depending on which emotion is currently winning the war. Last night's emotion was panic and fear mixed with a nagging voice saying "nah, you're over reacting."

A trip to the ER in the middle of the night confirmed that the little voice was right. Sorta.

Glenn came home from work with some upper back pain and headed off to bed early. When I joined him a few hours later, he was still awake because of the pain which was now also traveling down his left arm. I knew this could be a sign of an impending heart attack but he had also been shingling all week and had moved a pile of shingles that day. Could just be a pulled muscle, right?

Then he got up to take some Pepcid because he had heartburn and an alarm went off in my head that we should probably get this checked out. I talked him into going to the ER. Boy, they sure don't mess around when you complain of any pain that might be associated with the heart. We didn't even have to register, they came to us in the room later to fill out the paper work. His vitals were taken and the attending had examined him within 10 minutes of our arrival.

Turns out that he tore some muscles along the left side of his upper spine and the inflammation was causing the pain. We got some Vicodin and some muscle relaxers and arrived home only 2 1/2 hours after we left. That's gotta be some kind of record for an emergency visit.

Thankfully it was nothing major and we felt a little foolish at having rushed to the hospital, but they assured us that we did the right thing. Then probably laughed like school girls when we walked out the door.

Yet another exciting event to mark in my calendar of life.

Tuesday Scrapbook Layout

2006-02-07T15:43:00.000-05:00

WATER BOY

A different take on AC's "Show and Tell Tuesdays" is going to be my "Tuesday Scrapbook Layout" This twist on the show and tell came after the brutal discover that besides not having anything fun to post, likewise, I have nothing interesting to share via show and tell. So, here is the first layout. I wanted it to be titled Water Baby, but I ran out of room.

First Time for Everything

2006-02-06T10:44:00.000-05:00

This is the first tag I have played along with. Works out nicely, because I have nothing worthwhile to post anyway.

Four Jobs that I have had:
1) Advertising Coordinator for Blue Cross & Blue Shield
2) Video Store Chain Manager
3) New home construction/designer
4) Loan Officer

Four Movies I could watch over and over:
1) Good Will Hunting
2) Fried Green Tomatoes
3) Mr Smith Goes to Washington
4) Princess Bride

Four places in the U.S. I like:
1) Mackinac Island, Michigan
2) Denver, Colorado
3) Pigeon Forge, Tennessee
4) Sanibel Island, Florida

Favorite places I have vacationed: (Sadly, besides Canada, I've never been out of the country)
1) Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
2) Sanibel Island, Florida
3) Denver, Colorado
4) Savannah, Georgia

Four t.v. shows:
1) The First 48
2) Trading Spaces
3) Unsolved Mysteries
4) ER

Four favorite dishes:
1) Stuffing - that could be a meal alone
2) Crab Rangoons - again, an entire meal for me
3) Wet Burritos
4) Chicken & Broccoli Pasta Alfredo

Four places I would rather be:
1) Anywhere tropical
2) Cuddled up in bed with a good book and no work to do
3) Scrapping with Clew
4) Out anywhere with Molly

Four sites I visit daily:
1) My personal bank
2) The blogs and my mail
3) The MLS
4) Stocks

Four people I will tag:
1) Rebecca, cause she always participates
2) Nicole, if I ask real nice, she can't refuse. ;)
3) Joy, cuz you seem fun
4) Anonymous Coward, just to see if he'll lower himself to our shenanigans and play along.

Clew tagged me.

Come Visit Me

2006-02-03T09:32:00.000-05:00

Over at this blog today. I'm blogsitting for a fellow blogger and have the chance to be someone I'm not. Or rather, someone I'm uncomfortable being. It's much more exciting over there and you'll all realize just how boring I am if you return.

I can entertain you with a tap dance.

Right, shuffle-ball-step, shuffle-ball-step, toe tap
Shuffle-ball-change,
Left, shuffle-ball-step, shuffle-ball-step, toe tap
Shuffle-ball-change...
Right, shuffle..............ball.........step,
Cough, cough wheeze, cough,
Shuffle.........................................
Ball....................................
Step...........................
Cough, toe tap, toe tap, toe tap,
Top hat finish.
Heh, huh, heh, huh, heh, huh
Wheeeeeeze.

Maybe not.

Join Me

2006-02-02T00:01:00.000-05:00

In wishing Clew a very happy birthday, wont you? Love you sis!

Farts are Funny at Fifteen Months

2006-02-01T11:14:00.000-05:00

"Children learn what they live."

If that's true, then I'm embarrassed to admit that the baby thinks it's hilarious when he breaks wind. Or "opens up his peach basket" as my Grandma used to say.

Now before everyone conjures up an image of our family walking around saying things like "pull my finger" and "shhhh, do you hear that" prior to ripping off a butt clapper, let me just tell you that Drew has most likely acquired this habit because we laugh at him when he let's one fly.

Since he seeks our approval above all else except maybe his food, any way he can please us brings him great delight. Each time he toots, he stops in his tracks, looks at us from the corner of his eye and starts smiling, which of course makes us laugh even more, further reinforcing his antics.

I suppose just as he's learned this behavior, he'll soon enough learn that it's embarrassing to fart in public and I won't need to worry.

Post Op Update

2006-01-30T16:28:00.000-05:00

Praises to the doctor for removing my cast and my stitches. The finger is still really swollen and I can't straighten it, not because it's painful to do so, I just can't do it. So therapy might be in my future after all.

As with good news, there always seems to be a BUT. The pathology report showed nothing sinister like cancer, but there was a comment in the report that indicated the cyst or part of it may still be there. I'm not sure how the lab would come to that conclusion, but what do I know.

We're going to let some healing happen and then I go back to the doctor in two weeks. At least for now, with only one finger wrapped, I'm more mobile than I was with the cast on.

Hey Rocky! Wanna see me pull a survey out of my a$$?

2006-01-25T16:12:00.000-05:00

Working with the public, especially when it involves their own money, is not for the faint of heart. Strictly knowing this fact, does not necessarily secure smooth transactions between client and broker.

I did everything I could to get all my proverbial ducks in a row before my surgery fearing that I wouldn't be able to do anything during recovery. This included having everything ready for a mortgage closing tomorrow. I made sure the package would be ready, that the title office had all the documents and the lender had cleared the conditions. The only thing the buyer needed to do was find a copy of their existing survey and fax it to the title office. They assured me they had one and they would have it faxed by the beginning of this week.

I get a call from the lender today. "We need a survey on the (insert last name) file."

Thinking that there was a transmittal error at worst, I ring the buyer and ask them to fax it again. "Oh, it turns out we don't have a survey. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Well not for me, but the lender wont give us final clear to close until we produce one and if we don't close tomorrow, I can't guarantee your rate because the lock will expire." They've known this was the deadline for 3 weeks and still have dragged it out not getting me certain documents I've needed.

Anyway, I work my magic and get a surveying company out to the property and they agree to have my survey ready by tomorrow morning. They want to charge $200 instead of $150 though for the rush job. I authorize it without the buyer's okay. Seemingly the right thing to do in this particular situation.

Call up buyer to explain and he's irate that it's going to cost them $50 more dollars. I go from hero to zero in a matter of thirty minutes. Should I kill him or strangle myself?

Fuzzy Limbs on Woody Skeletons

2006-01-24T14:28:00.000-05:00

(This is today's view from my office window)

Once a lush green foliated screen,

A kaliedoscope of fall color

turned tangle of gnarly limbs,

Reduced to this icy scene

with buds lying dormant underneath,

waiting.

Honorary Mayor

2006-01-21T12:47:00.000-05:00

Forty five years ago, a little boy announced his entry into the world with a crackled squawk. He was known as what some refer to as a "blue baby". His little brain had been depraved of oxygen for too long resulting in a compromised mental state. But despite the challenges Dougie faced, he grew to be a warm, generous and funny guy.

He hung out at Hilliards General Store which is the epitome of country stores. The smell inside is one of must combined with lavender and old, dry wood mixed with cinnamon. The creaky, blue wood floor spills onto a covered porch adorned with padded rocking chairs and an ice chest. This is where Dougie passes his time, rocking back and forth in his baseball cap, waiting for people to stop in so he can get their autographs.

Before softball games, my high school friends and I would go to Hilliards to buy provisions for the bus trips and there we would chat with Doug and sign little notes to him in his book. We'd known him since we were little and we just accepted him as he was, never feeling sorry for him. As we got older, some of the boys would tease him indirectly, making sexual comments that he most likely didn't get. Either because he was unable to or because he didn't care, Dougie was not bothered by their subtle jibes and would ask for their signatures despite their laughing.

Over the years, Doug collected thousands of signatures in many different books from friends and strangers alike. Often duplicate names appear in the pages of his journals, sometimes dated a few weeks apart and sometimes years span the entries. Last year, we saw Doug at a birthday party where he asked my daughter to sign his book. Not knowing him, she was a little intimidated by his close proximity to her and his slurred words, but she signed her name anyway giving him a smile and a wave goodbye.

This past week Doug was named Honorary Mayor of the small town of Hilliards, which doesn't even have it's own town council. His campaign signs were plastered on telephone poles in a mile radius of the store. His slogan: "Beware of the Doug". This simple appointment, this small token of responsibility could not have been bestowed on anyone more deserving. Doug has been the one constant Hilliards has seen in this ever changing world.

While the rest of us have changed and evolved, Doug has remained the same sweet innocent person he's always been, collecting names in his journals and greeting all that patronize the store from under his baseball cap with a big cheesy grin.

OY!

2006-01-20T11:16:00.000-05:00

Well, I felt pretty good yesterday as my hand was numb until 10:30 pm, but today it really hurts. The good news is that my tendons looked good and I probably wont need any therapy. The cyst was not caused by an injury to the tendon shaft, but was growing independantly. I'll have the pathology results on that in 10 days or so.

Today, I just plan on laying around. Be back soon.

Update

2006-01-19T11:25:00.000-05:00

This is Martie with an update on Naive.....she is now home from the surgery and doing very well. They removed a cyst from her finger and fortunately the shaft wasn't damaged that we know of at this point. She is going to be resting and taking it easy for the rest of today (Mother's orders). We will keep you updated further when we have new news!

Something To Pass the Time

2006-01-18T21:28:00.000-05:00

When most of you are reading this, I'll be dozing peacefully under the affects of the anesthesia. Until I get back and can report the events of the surgery, I thought I'd leave you with this humorous piece of information. Enjoy. Ruben will especially enjoy this. ;)

THE HANGOVER SCALE

One Star Hangover *:

No pain. No real feeling of illness. You're able to function relatively well; however, you are still parched. You can drink 5 sodas and still feel this way. For some reason you are craving a steak and fries.

Two Star Hangover **:

No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancakes from the 3:00 am Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.

Three Star Hangover ***:

Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You've had four cups of coffee, a gallon of water, three iced teas and a Diet Coke --- yet you haven't peed once.

Four Star Hangover ****:

Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you only shaved one side of your face. (For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars.) Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your hair hurts. Your sphincter is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five shits you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom.

Five Star Hangover *****:

You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. In fact, you are probably still drunk. You still have toothpast crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the poop fairy out. Your body has the lost the ability to generate saliva so your tongue is suffocating you. You don't have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Any attempt to defacate results in a fire hose like discharge of alcohol scented fluid with a rare "floater" thrown in. The sole purpose of this "floater" seems to be to splash the toilet water all over your ass. Death sounds pretty good about right now!

The Day is Almost Here

2006-01-17T00:14:00.000-05:00

I've been dreading it for a while now and not because I'm afraid of the surgery, but because I'm not looking forward to the recovery.

It's only hand surgery, nothing invasive, but it requires more than local anesthesia. I will be sedated for two hours while the surgeon tries to remove a cyst that is in my finger. It's wrapped around the tendons and nerves requiring the longer procedure. I'll have 12-14 stitches and a cast covering my entire right hand. (Yes, I'm right handed.)

For ten days, I'll have to try to take care of a 14 month old with one hand. I'll have some help, but ten days is a long time to have someone take care of your kid. Once that cast comes off, a smaller one will take it's place for 2-3 weeks and then possible therapy. And the cyst will go to pathology for testing.

Seeing as I won't be able to do a lot, I will be very much around in the blogworld. However, I don't know how often I'll post. We'll see how hard it is to type. A friend pointed out that I could use Audioblogger, but I hate the sound of my own voice on recordings, so we'll see. If you don't hear from me for a while, this is why.

Thine Eyes have Seen the Horror

2006-01-11T10:58:00.000-05:00

I swear I'm the only one in my house that has eyes. Or ears. Or a brain for that matter.

I've been gone most of this week and today, my first full day at home, I survey the damage.

I'm not making this up either. The library floor is scattered with various plastic zoo animals and the piano bench is sitting at an awkward angle in the middle of the room. The basement dvd, receiver and satellite system are off, but the tv is on, illuminating the room in a phosphorus blue glow. There is an unopened box of Hungry Jack pancake mix in the fireplace next to a yellow oven mitt. A full piece of red velvet cake on the counter - untouched. The dog's water and food dishes are empty. The laundry - I don't even want to go there. There are three used diapers on the bathroom counter despite the fact there is a bag for diapers sitting right in front of the cabinet. There is a plastic Folgers coffee can on the trunk at the top of the steps beside a pile of receipts and the Sunday paper. One sole battery in my kitchen sink, a double AA. A urine spot in my bedroom - I'm assuming from the dog. And a wet towel slung over the back of a dining room chair.

I quit. I give up. I think I'll go on strike.